Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin
by DrummerGirl
Summary: Got tired of waiting for Book 5, so I wrote my own. Find out about Mrs. Figg, the new DADA teacher, Snape's past, and Voldemort's latest plot. PG-13 for violence and general creepiness. (In progress.)
1. The Invitation

ch1

Harry stopped pushing the mower and wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. He took off his glasses and wiped them, too. They weren't dirty, but he didn't need much of an excuse to take a break from mowing the backyard of Number Four, Privet Drive. He replaced his glasses and stared into the cloudless blue sky. A perfect July day. Even the fact that he'd been ordered to mow the lawn didn't ruin his mood.   
  
This summer may have been the best--so far--that Harry had ever had. Of course, that wasn't saying much, as his summers were usually miserable. Still, cousin Dudley was still on his diet, though it didn't seem to be working, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were so busy enforcing it that they scarcely had time to berate Harry. Harry just kept out of the way mostly, and tried to work on his summer schoolwork whenever he got the time.   
  
Harry glanced around, suddenly realizing that he'd been staring into space for going on five minutes. If Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia caught him, he'd be polishing silver all afternoon for sure, and he wanted to finish the backyard so he could start on his Astronomy homework. He was just about to resume pushing the mower when something caught his eye- something white, getting larger in the brilliant blue sky.   
  
Harry's heart leapt. Hedwig! She'd been gone for two days, carrying a letter to Harry's best friend, Ron. Harry had been correponding with his schoolfriends for three weeks, since their last term at Hogwarts had ended. Though Harry very much enjoyed hearing from Ron and Hermione, it was always with some trepidation that he opened their letters. Last term, the most powerful Dark wizard in the world had regained his body, his powers, and his followers. Being cut off from all news of the wizarding world, Harry was perpetually anxious to find out whether any attacks on Muggles, or killings of wizards opposed to Voldemort, had been reported in the Daily Prophet. But strangely, nothing of the kind had come to Ron's or Hermione's attention, though both were diligently watching for news. The Daily Prophet didn't even seem to know that Voldemort had returned to power; Harry supposed that Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry of Magic had seen to that.   
  
Hedwig alighted on Harry's shoulder and clicked her beak, obviously proud that she had performed her mission successfully.   
  
"Hi, Hedwig!" Harry said affectionately. "Listen, I'm glad to see you, too, but you've got to fly into the upstairs window--I can't carry you through the house without being seen." He removed the envelope that was attached to her leg. She hooted disdainfully. Clearly feeling unappreciated, she disappeared around the side of the house and, Harry hoped, flew into the window of his bedroom to her waiting cage. Looking around to make sure he wasn't being watched, Harry tore open the envelope and read Ron's letter. It ran over two pages of parchment, which was rather long for Ron:   
  
_Dear Harry,   
  
Thanks for the birthday list, very helpful. "I don't know" is always a popular item though, I'm not sure I'll be able to get it for you. Anyway, we'll talk about that later, I've got news now that's much more important!_   
  
Harry shuddered. Had there been an attack? Had Voldemort surfaced?   
  
_Harry, you'll never believe it. Percy's getting married! You remember his girlfriend from school, right, that curly-haired Ravenclaw girl? Penelope Clearwater? Well, it turns out they've been sending letters and seeing each other ever since they left Hogwarts, and he's just proposed--and she said yes! Imagine that, would you, someone wanting to marry Percy? She must be mad. Anyway, they've already set the date- August 29._   
  
August 29? That didn't seem like much time to plan a wedding.   
  
_Dad says you'll think it's a bit of a short engagement, but to tell you that wizards have shorter engagements than Muggles--weddings being much quicker and easier to arrange when you can use magic. _  
  
Harry remembered the ornate decorations for the Yule Ball last Christmas at Hogwarts, and tried to imagine what a wizard wedding would look like.   
  
_Anyway, you're invited, of course. More than invited--I reckon if you say no, Percy is likely to Apparate in your room and kidnap you ... he's been telling everyone that Harry Potter's going to be a guest. Hermione's invited, too, and I've just sent a letter to her.   
  
Harry, you've got to come, it'll be a great party. Fred and George are beside themselves trying to invent a spectacular practical joke that will hopefully ruin the ceremony and get them in loads of trouble. Mum's going crazy trying to keep them in line.   
  
Oh, and we met the Clearwaters last night, they had a little engagement party at their house. Bill and Charlie are home on holiday, and they were there too. Mr. And Mrs. Clearwater are nice enough. But Harry, get this: Penelope's sister is an Auror! I think her name's Persephone ... or something. It was brilliant, all through dinner she was telling us stories about tracking down Dark wizards, and comparing scars and burns with Charlie. I think she had him beat--he had more scars, but her stories were much more interesting. Once you've heard one dragon burn story, you've heard them all.   
  
Anyway, you've got to come, Harry. Mum says you can come to the Burrow a few days early and go to the rehearsal with us. Ask the Muggles and let me know as soon as you can.   
  
Ron_   
  
Percy Weasley was getting married! Harry had never been to a wedding before ... At least, not that he could remember. He knew he had attended the wedding of a cousin of Uncle Vernon's once when he was three, but for some reason the Dursleys never talked about it. Whenever the subject came up, Uncle Vernon started mumbling something like, "flowers changing colors, blinking ... flying all around the church ... never in my life ... couldn't prove it had anything to do with us, at any rate ..."   
  
So Harry's experience with Muggle weddings was limited, and his only exposure to a wizard wedding was his parents' wedding picture in the photo album that Hagrid had put together for him at the end of Harry's first year at Hogwarts. Harry visualized the picture in his mind: his father's proud look, his mother's smile. It seemed like a normal wedding picture, to Harry ... except, of course, that everyone pictured was moving and waving. A wizard wedding must be just like a Muggle wedding, Harry reasoned. Still, he was rather anxious to attend one, and immediately began thinking of ways to convince the Dursleys to let him go.   
  
"Taking a little break, are we?" a voice called from the back door. It was Uncle Vernon, wearing a nasty expression of proud spitefulness.


	2. A Secret Ally

The next Monday morning came around much too quickly for Harry. He was leaving the open contempt of the Dursleys, but only to gain the mind numbing boredom of Mrs. Figg's. Never had he wished he were back at Hogwarts so hard.  


"Hurry up, boy! We've got to meet Marge at the airport in an hour!"  


Harry finished scribbling an apologetic note to Ron, and tied it to Hedwig's leg. "Ron will send you back to me when I get home. Until then, stay with him, okay?" Hedwig nipped his fingertip affectionately, as though she sympathized with him, and then flew out the window. Harry picked up his bags and sloped downstairs, finding an anxious Uncle Vernon at the foot of the steps.   


"I'll take those," Uncle Vernon snarled. Harry just stared at him, nonplussed. "I hope you didn't think you'd do a bit of homework at Mrs. Figg's," Uncle Vernon snorted by way of explanation. He reached into Harry's backpack "I won't have her finding out about your -- AAAAUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH!" He pulled out his hand and stared at his red, swollen index finger. "Something bit me!"  


Harry had to try hard not to laugh. "It's just my book. It's about Magi- um, creatures ... it's about animals." He stifled a giggle. "I thought I'd tied it up tight, but apparently it got loose."  


"YOU ARE NOT TAKING YOUR SCHOOLTHINGS TO MRS. FIGG'S! GIVE ME THAT BAG! GET IN THE CAR!" Harry rushed past Uncle Vernon, shaking with laughter, stowed his two bags of clothes in the trunk, and sat down in the backseat next to Dudley, who was craning his neck to see what his father was yelling about. Maybe Harry wouldn't get to finish his homework at Mrs. Figg's house, but the expression on Uncle Vernon's face was worth any detention. A couple minutes later, Uncle Vernon brought out Harry's backpack, considerably lighter than when it had left Harry's bedroom. He chucked it onto Harry's lap.  


"Blasted thing ... Nearly drew blood ... Locked it away in the cupboard- that'll teach it!" he muttered. A startled Aunt Petunia looked over at him from the front passenger seat. He took a deep breath. "Right," he finally mumbled. "Let's go."  
  
  


***  
  
  


"Thank you for watching him, Mrs. Figg. It really is so sweet of you. We would take him with us, you know, but the silly child gets airsick. A shame, really," Aunt Petunia looked at Harry with feigned compassion. He thought he was going to be nauseous.  


"It's quite alright, dear. Harry and I are going to have a good time until you get back--won't we, Harry?" Mrs. Figg reached down and pinched both his cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry thought he saw Aunt Petunia smile.   


Petunia said a polite goodbye and hurried out the door. Harry watched the Dursleys pull out of Mrs. Figg's driveway. He wondered what Tuscany must be like this time of year.   


"Care for a cupcake, dear? Cucumber sandwich?" Harry turned around. Mrs. Figg was holding out a plateful of obviously stale sandwiches and some cupcakes that looked as hard as any substance on earth, possibly aside from Hagrid's own rock cakes.  


"Um, no thanks, I just ate." Harry didn't like lying to Mrs. Figg, but felt he had no option. He moved to pick up his bags. "I'll just put these away." He turned and made his way down the hall, toward the guest bedroom.  


"Alright dear." Mrs. Figg went and set the plate down on the kitchen table. "But I do hope you brought your dress robes."  


Harry stopped dead. He thought his ears must be playing tricks--surely he hadn't just heard what he thought he'd heard. He slowly spun around in his tracks and faced her. "Excuse ... me?" he whispered.  


Mrs. Figg looked up from the plate. "I said, I hope you brought your dress robes." She paused, taking in his astonishment amusedly. "That's what you're expected to wear to a wizard wedding, you know. Dress robes."  


Harry's jaw dropped. "But how ... You knew? How did you know? Who- ?"  


"Harry." Mrs. Figg's voice had changed. It was lower, not the sweet Mrs.-Figg voice Harry was used to, but a matter-of-fact tone that told him she knew a great deal more about him than she had ever let on. She focused on him, and stared at him in a way that made him feel as though she were looking right through him. "Surely you knew. Albus told me he'd mentioned me by name last term. He thought you'd realized, Harry."  


He still couldn't quite take it in. "You." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're a witch?" She knew Dumbledore, and she knew about Percy's wedding. There was no other explanation.  


Mrs. Figg nodded. "Yes, Harry. I never told you, and I had my reasons. There's a great deal to be explained. But first things first; I've been given an order by Professor Dumbledore to take you to Percy Weasley's wedding. And I want to know: did you, or did you not, bring your dress robes?"

***

Harry sat at Mrs. Figg's kitchen table and tried to collect his thoughts. It was all still so new. He had known Mrs. Figg all his life, and never had he suspected that she was a witch, or that she knew that he was a wizard.  


She finished making the tea and sat down opposite him. She gave him a sympathetic smile and handed him a cup.  


"That's alright, dear," she spoke warmly. "It will be easy enough for me to fetch your things from the Dursleys'. You be wanting me to bring back your schoolbooks, too, I suppose. That way you can get some work done while you're here ..."  


"I'm not thinking about that," Harry replied. "Oh, thank you," he said as he noticed the cup of hot tea.   


"Of course you weren't. You were trying to get your mind around the fact that boring old Mrs. Figg is an Auror!"  


"You're WHAT?" Harry exclaimed, nearly dropping his teacup. "You're an ... an Auror?!" He might be able to picture Mrs. Figg stirring a cauldron, or taking care of magical creatures, even. But fighting Dark wizards?  


Mrs. Figg laughed out loud. "Yes, of course! But I'm confusing you now. I reckon I should start from the beginning, eh?" She threw her head back and closed her eyes, as if she were trying to recall events that had taken place long ago. She opened her eyes again and directed them at Harry. "I have been friends with Albus Dumbledore ever since our school days. He trusted me, and he trusted my late husband. That's why he came to me when Voldemort disappeared." She noted Harry's expression of surprise at her use of the name, but she continued. "I never knew your parents, Harry, though of course I knew _of_ them. They were very well-known in the wizarding community. Anyway, when they were killed, I was tracking Dark wizards in Wales. Those were such difficult times at the Ministry." She shook her head. "We got word that a couple of Death Eaters in Wales were planning an attack on some Muggles, and I was sent out to stop them, but they got away. Anyway, I was just getting ready to return to Surrey when who should Apparate right in front of me but Albus? Tells me a wild story about a Killing curse that backfired, and a baby with a scar," she smiled as she glanced at the lightning-shape scar on Harry's forehead. "Then in flies that Rubeus Hagrid fellow on a flying motorcycle! And to top it all, he was carrying something--the baby. You."  


Mrs. Figg paused, obviously thinking hard. "Now, we've kept this from you for some time, but I suppose you're old enough to know it all now. Right then and there, in that rooming house in Wales where I'd been staying, Albus Dumbledore made me your Secret-Keeper; he performed the Fidelius charm. Now, normally the subject--that would be you--must hold his Secret-Keeper in mind while the charm is performed. But Albus devised a way to appoint a Secret-Keeper for you, since you were only an infant. The only limitation was that the charm would only work as long as you resided with your next of kin."  


It made sense, Harry thought. He remembered the end of last term, when Mrs. Weasley had asked to have Harry stay at the Burrow all summer, and how Professor Dumbledore had told her that Harry must stay at the Dursleys', "at least for a while". Mrs. Figg saw the comprehension dawning on his face.  


"Yes, that's right," she replied, as though he had spoken his thoughts out loud. "You had a godfather, and anyone in the wizarding world would have gladly taken you in. But Professor Dumbledore was forced to leave you with the Dursleys. And, truth be told, I think he preferred it that way. Better that you not know everything until you were old enough to understand it, he used to say."  


"So, there you were, and Albus asked me to move in here to watch over you in case any Dark wizards tried to find you. Though he needn't have bothered. No one did. Voldemort was smart enough to try to get to you where you were unprotected by the Fidelius charm--at Hogwarts. Though I daresay he didn't succeed!" She looked down, chuckling merrily to herself. "Three times, Harry! Three times you defeated him." She stopped laughing at looked at him affectionately. "I'm sure your father would have been very proud."  


Harry gazed at Mrs. Figg with a new respect. The simple old woman who he had hardly given a thought had spent fourteen years of her life watching over him. He didn't know what to say.  


"You're welcome," she said warmly. She stood up and placed her teacup in the sink. "Now, I think I'll Apparate over to the Dursleys' and collect your dress robes. If you tell me which books and school things you want, I'll be happy to get them for you. Oh, and why don't you use my owl to send a note to your friend Ron?" She produced a piece of parchment and a quill from a kitchen drawer and handed them over. She whistled, and a dark screech owl flew in from one of the back bedrooms, landed on the table, and surveyed Harry curiously. "Tell him we'll both be attending that wedding."  


Harry lay awake in the guest bed that night, too excited to sleep. Mrs. Figg would take him to Diagon Alley a week before school started on September 1. There he would meet the Weasleys and buy all his school supplies for the year. He would go back to the Burrow with them, and stay there until he, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George left for Hogwarts together. Harry smiled, closed his eyes, and pictured a sunburned Dudley whining for more lasagna. He had never been so glad to be left behind by the Dursleys. 


	3. Salamander Eyes

Harry's birthday came a couple of days after his arrival at Mrs. Figg's. She even baked him a little cake, and although it didn't taste very good, he appreciated it a great deal. Despite the fact that he had never given Ron a proper list--or possibly because of it--Ron sent Harry his very own copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Hermione sent a very nice padded carrying case for Harry's Firebolt, and Hagrid sent an assortment of miniature models of dragons--one model for each species. But the owl Harry was most anxious to receive came from Sirius.  


Harry had heard nothing from Sirius since that night last term when he had left Harry in the hospital wing. He tore the envelope open eagerly. Sirius wrote:

_Harry--_

I'm sorry I haven't written before now, but I'm trying to lie low. I'm safe, so don't worry about me. I'm staying with someone, and I can't write too often. Everyone knows he was my friend, and I'm still a fugitive, so I can't be sending owls out very frequently or it will look suspicious. All the same, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I expect to see you very soon.

Sirius

P.S. RL sends his regards.  
  


Tucked inside the note were ten galleons and a bar of chocolate wrapped in gold foil--Harry figured that must be from Professor Lupin. Harry pocketed the candy and galleons and folded the note. He was happy to know that Sirius was safe, but he wished that he could see him, or at least speak to him more often.   


Harry and Mrs. Figg caught the early train to London on the morning of August 25. Excited as he was to see his friends and begin a new year at school, Harry was a bit sad to leave Mrs. Figg. She had taught him a great deal about wizard chess, and he had even shown her a thing or two about Exploding Snap. It had been nice to be able to do his schoolwork openly, and even ask questions about it, for a change.   


As they walked through the passageway leading from the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley, Mrs. Figg handed Harry a piece of parchment. "It wouldn't do to forget this, would it, dear?" she asked, smiling. She handed it to him, and he saw that it was his shopping list for school. "Arrived by owl a few days ago; I kept forgetting to give it to you. Good thing I kept it in my purse or we might not have had it to do your shopping with!"  


They walked to Gringotts bank, where a Harry withdrew a bagful of Galleons from his vault. He looked at his list. "Guess we ought to get to Flourish and -- hang on," he glanced up at Mrs. Figg with a puzzled look. It says here that I'll need," he read from the list, "'One set of workout robes, grey; running shoes and socks.'" He looked back up at Mrs. Figg. "What's that about? We've never taken any kind of gym class before at Hogwarts!"  


Mrs. Figg returned his bewildered look. "I'm sure I don't know," she said. A sudden thought hit her. "Harry--do you know who your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is this year?"   


"No," he replied. "Why?"  


"Hmmm, I wonder ... Well, I don't know either, but I'm guessing that's the teacher who put those items on your list." She peered over the top of the parchment in Harry's hand. "Come on, let's ask Madam Malkin if she can help us."  


Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions was very busy. "Exercise clothes! Sneakers, for crying out loud! Is this a wizard clothing shop or a Muggle department store?!" a harried Madam Malkin exclaimed when they showed her Harry's list. "There," she said, and pointed them toward what appeared to be a regular cardboard box full of running shoes and socks.   


"Not very helpful today, is she? That's alright, we can find them ourselves," Mrs. Figg said as she began digging through the pile. After fifteen minutes of rummaging through shoes and sorting through stacks of plain grey cotton robes, Harry and Mrs. Figg had found everything they needed. They paid a cashier and wandered over to Miniver Morris's Gift Shoppe next door.  


"Percy and Penelope are registered here, you know," said Mrs. Figg. Harry turned toward her with a start; he needed to buy them a wedding gift! Mrs. Figg noticed his apprehension, and patted his hand. "Don't worry, dear, I'll help you."  


In the end, Mr. Morris persuaded Mrs. Figg to buy a small but very expensive porcelain cauldron ("Self-stirring! Miss Clearwater has splendid taste"), and Harry purchased a very pretty vase that kept any plant it held alive indefinitely. They paid for their gifts, which Mr. Morris wrapped for them, and headed for Flourish and Blotts.  


There they found Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley in the Transfiguration aisle. "Harry!," Ron exclaimed. He was grinning from ear to ear. "Listen," he whispered instantly, "Fred and George have gone off to Knockturn Alley and I owed them a favor, so I said I'd distract Mum for them," he whispered. "Don't say anything, okay?"  


Harry barely had time to nod when Hermione turned around. "Harry!" she exclaimed as she hugged him. "How are you? Fred and George will be so ... Hey! Where are Fred and George?" Ron groaned and rolled his eyes. Mrs. Weasley looked up from the stack of books labeled _A Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five_.   


"Good lord, where _are_ they?" Mrs. Weasley cried. "Oh, hello Harry dear. Hello Arabella," she smiled distractedly. "I'm sorry, but I've got to find those two. If they've gone off to buy more Whizzing Fizzbies ..."  


"Don't worry, Molly, I'll find them," Mrs. Figg reassured her. "If you'll just hold this parcel for me. Excuse me, children." She hurried out of the store. Mrs. Weasley looked relieved.  


"So you know Mrs. Figg?" Harry asked.  


"Arabella? Oh yes, for years. Rather well-known around the Ministry, of course. I reckon she's been an Auror for going on a hundred years now."  


Harry, Ron, and Hermione busied themselves collecting their schoolbooks for the new year. As they left Flourish and Blotts, Mrs. Figg strode toward them with two identical boys in tow. She was grasping Fred by his right ear and George by his left, and they wore looks that exhibited a combination of embarrassment and pain.  


"Molly, I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Mrs. Figg began. "But I caught them just as they were leaving Knockturn Alley. Managed to confiscate these from them."  


She let go of their ears, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a handful of what looked like tiny, bright red balls.  


"Salamander eyes!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed.   


"We wouldn't have gone there if we didn't have to, but we needed salamander eyes especially," George whined.  


"What on earth for?" Mrs. Weasley queried threateningly.  


"Special ... wedding surprise for Perce," Fred grinned.  


"I'll give YOU a surprise!"  


"Ow! Mum, stop!" She grabbed them both by their necks and steered them back toward the Leaky Cauldron. Mrs. Figg took Harry aside.  


"It's time for you to go back with the Weasleys now. Have a good time, dear."  


"Mrs. Figg ... I just want ... well, I wanted to ..." Harry stammered. "Thank you."  


She smiled and gave him a hug. "You can thank me by being good for the Weasleys. Now, you've got your backpack. Tonight Arthur will come by my house and pick up your trunk. And I'll see you on the twenty-ninth. After that, don't you worry about the Dursleys; when they get back, I'll make sure they understand you've got off to school safely."  


Harry was just about to explain that he didn't think his safety would be foremost on the Dursleys' minds when they returned, but Ron called to him.  


"Oy! Harry! Are you coming or not?"   


Harry waved at Mrs. Figg and said a quick goodbye. 


	4. Dinner at the Burrow

Harry stepped out of the Weasleys' fireplace, rubbing his elbow. Hermione, who had just stepped out herself, turned and looked at him. "Well, you're supposed to keep your elbows IN, aren't you?"   


"Thanks. A lot. You couldn't have reminded me BEFORE we left?"  


"I am at my wits' end with the two of you! Running off down Knockturn Alley after I've explicitly told you not to ... spending your time thinking up practical jokes instead of finishing your schoolwork ... oh, don't you roll your eyes at me, Fred Weasley!"   


"Hello, Molly dear," Mr. Weasley spoke with a note of apprehension as he climbed the stairs from the basement.  


"Arthur, would you please do something with these boys of yours ... I've got to get dinner ready!" Red-faced, she stormed into the kitchen.  


"Wow, she's really mad," Harry whispered to Ron.  


"Yeah, she's been kind of on-edge ever since ... You-Know-Who came back. I guess she was afraid something might happen. 'Specially down Knockturn Alley."  


"Come on, boys, I'm scouring out the Bundimuns in the basement. You two can help me."  


The twins groaned but followed their father, and Mrs. Weasley busied herself in the kitchen, setting pots on the stove. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny walked up the stairs to Ron's room.   


"It's alright if Ginny stays, isn't it?" Hermione asked as they entered. "I mean, she knows everything now. Your parents told you what happened at the end of last term, didn't they?"  


Ginny nodded. "But nothing has happened since then."  


Harry had been waiting all day to ask for the latest knews about Voldemort. "So, no one has seen or heard anything about him? Or any Death Eaters?"  


"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "Dad's been alerting everyone he can, and trying to gather information. But there's nothing." Ron lowered his voice. "Percy doesn't believe it, you know. I've heard him and Dad arguing loads of times. But I think as long as Fudge denies that You-Know-Who is back, Percy will too. He looks up to Fudge almost as much as he did Mr. Crouch."  


They all sat in silence for a few minutes. Harry was puzzled. Voldemort was now more powerful than he had been in fourteen years. What could he be waiting for? "Does anyone know what he's planning?"  


"That's the question everyone is asking ... well, everyone who knows the truth. But no one has so much as a clue," Hermione spoke quietly. Her ginger cat, Crookshanks had been sunning himself under the window. He walked over and rubbed against her ankles.  


"What do you say, Crookshanks?" she cooed. "Do you know anything?" But the cat just purred and closed his eyes.  


"Well, he's not talking," Ron leaned back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

***

Percy, Charlie, and Bill returned to the Burrow just in time for dinner. Percy looked pale, and was clearly agitated.  


"But I didn't KNOW I was supposed to buy her a gift!" he wailed, flopping down on the oversized couch. Charlie and Bill exchanged glances and chuckled.  


"Mum, we must have walked through every Muggle and wizard shop in London. He didn't find anything that he liked." Bill sat down opposite Percy, clearly drained.  


"Well, he's got a few days yet, hasn't he? Never mind that now, your father's just set the table. It's time to eat!"  


Their dinner in the garden was much like the one they'd had the summer before. They sat in the same chairs, at the same tables, and looked around at the same faces. And that comforted them; even though Voldemort's return was in the back of everyone's mind, no one brought it up.  


"Anyway, about that _favor_, Ron," George said as he jabbed Ron in the ribs, nearly causing him to spill his pumpkin juice. "I'm thinking you can polish my broomstick for me before school starts."  


"Yeah, mine too," added Fred.  


"What's this about? Why do you owe them a favor, Ron?" Hermione asked.  


"They bought me new dress robes, and haven't let me forget it yet," said Ron miserably. "I'd almost rather wear that lacy--thing-from last year than deal with these two and their 'favors'."  


Fred looked across the table at Harry with raised eyebrows, and put his finger to his lips to signal him to keep quiet. They both knew that the money for the robes had come from Harry, and it wasn't quite fair for the twins to make Ron repay them. But Harry also knew that Ron was proud, and he'd much rather perform any number of chores for Fred and George than accept anything for free, even from family.  


Snatches of conversation drifted from the other end of the table.  


"Well, I reckon Charlie enjoyed the engagement party," Bill said, laughing. Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny laughed too.  


"I thought she was nice, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, causing the Weasley children--except Percy and Charlie--to explode into laughter yet again. Charlie turned bright red.  


Percy looked around the table condescendingly. "Charlie could do a lot worse than Persephone Green, that's for certain," he chided the giggling crowd.  


"Charlie has a crush on her," Ginny whispered.  


"Green?" Hermione repeated, puzzled. "Penelope's sister's last name is Green? But I thought she was a Clearwater."  


"Oh, she is, dear," Mrs. Weasley answered, "but she got married a year or so out of school. Green was his name ... Demetrius Green. But, well, he died. Oh, I remember that so well, don't you, dear? It was so sad," she said to Mr. Weasley.  


He nodded. "How could I forget? It was ... horrible. No other word for it." By now everyone had stopped laughing and given their full attention to Mr. Weasley.   


"I think I remember that," Bill responded. "Wasn't he an Envoy, or something?"  


Harry swallowed a particularly large bite of baked potato. "A what?" he asked.  


"An Envoy," answered Hermione. "You know. They're a bit like Muggle charity workers, or--what do they call them?--missionaries."  


"Hermione's right," Mr. Weasley added. "There are wizards who believe that they've been given a great deal of responsibility along with their magical power. They spend their lives using magic to help Muggles- covertly, under the Ministry's supervision, of course. Most Muggles don't even know when they've been helped by an Envoy. They work in hospitals, fire stations, social services ... I even considered becoming one, once ..."  


"But what about Green?" Ron interrupted, impatient to hear the full story. "That Demetrius Green, what happened to him?"  


Mr. Weasley became quiet, and for the first time, Harry saw in his eyes the same sad weariness that he'd seen so often in Sirius.  


"It was in the days of You-Know-Who's rise to power. The Ministry was doing its best to track the Death Eaters ... but it wasn't good enough. It couldn't keep up with them all. I got a call one evening about an attack at a Muggle hospital. An Envoy dead, along with the three Muggles he'd been treating as patients. The place was swarming with Aurors by the time I got there, but the two Death Eaters had gotten away already. I was called in because they had charmed several Muggle medical implements to attack the Ministry officials who had come to help--very dangerous." He shook his head sadly. "The most shocking thing was, it was a targeted attack. Those Death Eaters could have killed a hundred Muggles at that hospital, but they went after Green especially."  


"What on earth for?" Hermione asked.  


Mr. Weasley looked across the table at her. "Because Death Eaters hated Envoys. They were exact opposites, you understand: the Death Eaters lived to destroy Muggles; the Envoys lived to help them. You-Know Who's followers thought that Envoys were the foulest creatures alive because they were wizards who gave their lives in service to Muggles. Considered them a disgrace. Would have gotten rid of them all, if they could."  


"So sad," Mrs. Weasley murmured. "I remember seeing Persephone at the funeral--we went to pay our respects, you know. Lots of people wouldn't, they were afraid to be seen there by Dark wizards. But someone had to go, besides the Greens. And that poor girl! How old was she then, Arthur? Twenty-one?"  


"Twenty, I think," he replied.  


"Twenty years old and a widow," Charlie whispered incredulously.   


Everyone sat around the table in silence. Their conversation had taken an unexpected and unpleasant turn, but now that their minds were on Voldemort and the Death Eaters, they could think of little else. Each of them--except Percy, who continued eating in silence--was wondering the same thing: could they expect to see more of the violence that had touched the lives of the Greens, and so many others, fourteen years ago? 


	5. Persephone Green

The next three days at the Burrow went by in a blur of pick-up Quidditch, wizard chess, and card games. Harry hadn't realized how much he'd missed Ron and Hermione over the summer, and was glad that he had plenty of time to spend with them now that he'd finished his schoolwork. Ron and Hermione had finished theirs, too, and Hermione had since grown quite interested in Mrs. Weasley's copy of _Madame Pringle's Guide to Wizard Etiquette_.  


"The chapter on weddings is fascinating!" she told them one night while Ron tried to teach Harry an Egyptian card game he'd just learned from Bill. "Now, it says here that wedding ceremonies for wizards and Muggles are similar, but their receptions are much different. 'In a wizard wedding, the wedding cake, which is traditionally colored violet and often charmed to sing, is eaten before the main meal.'"  


"Dessert before dinner! Someone finally got it right," called Fred, ascending the staircase from the basement. He and George had spent the past three days helping their father scour the Bundimuns out of the basement as punishment for their adventure in Knockturn Alley. They entered the living room, threw themselves down on a couch, and took off their gloves.  


Harry mused for a moment, which caused him to lose his hand to Ron. "Hermione," he said after Ron collected the cards and held the deck out on his palm, allowing it to shuffle itself, "Mrs. Figg told me that wizards wear dress robes to weddings. Does it say anything about that in your book?"  


"Oh yes. It says dress robes are the conventional attire."  


Harry paused. "Well, in those wedding pictures of my parents that Hagrid gave me, everyone is wearing Muggle clothes--my father and Sirius Black are wearing tuxedoes, and my mother has on a white gown."  


Hermione thought for a moment. "Well, your mother was Muggle-born, wasn't she? She had probably dreamt of a Muggle wedding ever since she was a little girl."  


Ron snickered. "Girls. Do you mean to tell me that you actually spend your free time 'dreaming of your wedding'?" He took on a high-pitched tone, clasped his hands together under his chin, and turned his eyes upward in mockery. "Tell me, do your daydreams involve that _dreamy_ Gilderoy Lockhart?" He, Fred, George, and Harry laughed. Hermione turned pink.  


"Ron, just because some boys don't think about what's going to happen five minutes into the future doesn't mean that no one does. Some of us actually give some thought to our futures!" she fumed.   


"That reminds me," George blurted. He jabbed Fred in the ribs. Fred nodded and they climbed the stairs to their room.  


"Wonder what they're up to?" Hermione said.  


Ron sighed. "It's Fred and George. Same thing they're always up to- planning a gag that will turn Mum's hair gray."

***

Harry and Hermione were invited to attend the wedding rehearsal with the Weasleys on the evening of August 28. Much to Harry's dismay, they were to travel to the Clearwaters' house in Norwich by Floo powder.   


"Now Harry," said Mr. Weasley after everyone but the two of them had stepped into the fireplace, "Remember, just step into the flames, say 'Clear Lake Manor', and hold your elbows in." He gave Harry a reassuring pat on the back. Harry apprehensively did as he was told, and was quite surprised to land on his feet, uninjured, in the Clearwaters' fireplace a few seconds later.  


As he stepped out, he surveyed the room. A crowd of at least twenty people had already gathered in the large parlor where he now stood. The Clearwaters' house, which Harry figured must be very large indeed, was evidently an old place, and very fine: the floors were made of pure marble, and oil portraits of venerable-looking witches and wizards hung on the walls. The subjects of the paintings all sat alert and dignified, as though they had been told to be on their best behavior for the occasion.  


A tall, rather bald man with a kind face walked toward Harry, but his gaze was fixed behind him at Mr. Weasley, who had apparently just emerged from the fireplace.  


"Arthur! It's wonderful to see you again. Welcome!"  


"Thank you, Robert," Mr. Weasley responded, brushing the soot off his robes. He shot Harry a look that showed his approval at Harry's performance with the Floo powder and winked at him before continuing. "We're all very happy to be here. Robert, I think Percy mentioned that we would be bringing a couple of guests ..."  


"Harry Potter," the man called Robert spoke softly as he noticed Harry for the first time. His eyes did the all-too-familiar flicker up to the scar on Harry's forehead. "Welcome, Harry! It's very nice to meet you."  


"Very nice to meet you, too," Harry replied, trying to sound as polite as possible.  


"And this is Hermione Granger, another friend of Ron's from school." Hermione had been standing on the other side of Harry, as she had come out of the fireplace just ahead of him. Mr. Weasley pointed to the bald man. "Harry, Hermione, this is Mr. Robert Clearwater."  


Mr. Clearwater waved his hand dismissively. "Just call me Robert," he said as he reached out and shook Hermione's hand.  


"Mr. Clearwater--er, Robert--is on the board of trustees of Gringotts bank," Mr. Weasley explained. Harry and Hermione nodded.  


"Oh, Arthur, let's not bore the kids talking about work," Mr. Clearwater chuckled. "Come on in and meet everyone. Everyone, this is Harry and Hermione," he spoke to the crowd. Several faces looked over, and some waved and smiled. Penelope and Percy made their way through the crowd. Percy shook Harry's hand.  


"It's very good to see you, Harry," he said stiffly. He leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear. "Really, I'm so glad you could make it ... when Ron told me you'd declined ... well, everyone was hoping to meet you ... I was so glad when you wrote back and said you'd come." Harry just smiled and nodded awkwardly.  


Penelope had walked over and hugged Hermione, apparently to Hermione's surprise. "And it's good to see you again!" she cried. "You know, I just realized I never did thank you ... the basilisk, in my sixth year, that business with the mirror ... I reckon you saved my life."   


Hermione looked genuinely moved. "Well, I ... it was nothing, really." She blushed.   


"Come on, let's introduce you around," said Percy, putting his arm around Harry's shoulder and steering him into the crowd. Penelope and Hermione followed. They exchanged introductions and pleasantries with at least a dozen people, none of whom Harry could remember half an hour later as he and Hermione sat, along with a few of the Clearwaters' guests who also weren't in the wedding, in chairs that had been set up in the garden. As night fell, they watched the Weasleys and Clearwaters rehearse the wedding ceremony.   


"Oh, this will be _so_ enlightening!," Hermione enthused. "Just think of all the wizarding customs and traditions we'll be exposed to."  


Harry was too hungry to think about being exposed to anything but a plateful of food. He watched the wedding party take their places at the far end of the garden. On Percy's right was Bill, the best man ("Apparently Percy has always sort of idolized Bill," Ron had told Harry). To his right were Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron. On Penelope's left stood a brunette who Harry hadn't met, two familiar-looking Ravenclaw girls from Penelope's year, and Ginny.  


"Who's the one standing next to Penelope?" Harry asked.  


Hermione looked over at the bridesmaids. "Must be that Persephone Green, eh? Hmm ... Doesn't look much like an Auror, does she?"  


Harry nodded. Judging from the way the Weasleys had teased Charlie, he had expected a female version of Mad-Eye Moody, complete with scars and missing pieces. But Persephone Green looked entirely normal- attractive even. Her hair wasn't curly like Penelope's; instead, it fell in long, dark waves down her back. She was smiling at her sister, but she had sort of a sad smile. Her green eyes twinkled familiarly. She reminded Harry of someone, but he couldn't say who.   


"Does she remind you of anyone?" he asked Hermione.  


She frowned. "Yeah, now that you say it, she does. Not quite sure who, though." Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the rehearsal wracking their brains trying to place Persephone, but an hour later they found themselves seated inside at the dinner table, with no more idea who she resembled than they'd had at first.  


Harry and Hermione were seated at the long table next to Ron and across from Persephone, Penelope, Percy, and Bill. House-elves walked in humbly, bowing and bearing plate after plate of food. Mrs. Weasley looked impressed, but Hermione merely grunted her disapproval. Persephone Green looked across the table and smiled.  


"I don't think I've met you yet," she said. "You must be Hermione Granger? And you," she said, turning to Harry with a blank look, "I don't think I got your name ...?" She trailed off, as though she had no idea who he was.   


"Uh, my name's Har--" Finally Persephone broke down and laughed at his astonished look. Harry laughed, too.  


"Sorry, I couldn't resist. I'll bet you don't get _that_ much, do you?" she chuckled. "My name is Persephone Green." She reached across the table and shook both their hands. A look flashed across her face that reminded Harry almost painfully of that person he and Hermione couldn't quite recall. He tried hard to remember.  


"Ah, you're trying to place me. Well, I don't think we've met before. Although I reckon you know my grandfather, Albus Dumbledore." Then it hit Harry: that was it! Her eyes twinkled just like Dumbledore's.  


Hermione was taken aback. "How did you know we were trying to place you? And Professor Dumbledore is your _grandfather_?"  


"Yes," Persephone responded. "He's my mother's father. But I'm afraid she isn't with us any longer." She paused for a second, then took a rather large helping of green beans.  


"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry interjected. Persephone took a drink from her wineglass and shook her head.  


"No, no, it happened a very long time ago. You see that woman down there--" she gestured toward the other end of the table, "sitting next to my father?" Harry and Hermione noted the pleasant-looking curly-haired woman. "She's my stepmother, and Penelope's Mum."  


"Stop, Persephone, you'll confuse them," laughed Penelope.   


Ron leaned over to Harry and Hermione. "Did you know Dumbledore ever had a family?" They both shook their heads. But something else was puzzling Hermione.  


"Miss Green ... just now, you said we were trying to place you. How did you know that?"  


Percy caught this and puffed out his chest proudly. "Well, I told you Persephone's an Auror. But, I mean to say, she's not just any Auror ... She's a _Summoner_!" Clearly he was overjoyed to be marrying into a family distinguished enough to contain a Summoner, whatever that meant.  


Harry figured that he was supposed to be impressed. He tried to recall whether he had ever heard the term used before. Persephone laughed again.  


"You poor thing, we _are_ confusing you, aren't we? Never mind, Percy."   


But Percy wouldn't be put off. "Harry," he expounded authoritatively, "a Summoner is a particular type of Auror. You know that Aurors catch Dark wizards. Well, a Summoner catches Dark wizards specifically for the purpose of turning them back from the Dark Side. Very dangerous job, and very prestigious. The Ministry currently employs forty-two Aurors, and only three are Summoners."  


"But how? I mean, how do they turn wizards back from the Dark side?" asked Ginny, from down the table. Everyone appeared to be listening.   


Percy was in his element now. Persephone looked at him, amused. "Go on, Percy, tell her."  


"Well," he began, "Summoners are appointed based on their talent for reading other people's attitudes and emotions. _Not_ their minds, you understand--mind-reading has been considered a Dark Art since the Warlocks' Convention of 1289." He took a deep breath. "After being appointed, a Summoner is assigned a veteran Summoner as a mentor, and then trained by the mentor to sharpen that talent for 'reading' people. Summoners use this ability to identify Dark wizards, especially Dark wizards who they think are likely to abandon their Dark ways with a little prompting."  


"Very good, Percy," Persephone responded.  


Hermione was intrigued. "So you can read people's emotions?"  


Persephone turned toward her. "Yes. It was difficult at first, but now I've been doing it so long that it's second nature ... So you understand why, when you were trying to remember who I reminded you of, I sensed your confusion and frustration. I hate that feeling of having something on the tip of my tongue!"  


Hermione looked thoughtful. Everyone else around the table started conversing again, Percy's little display being at an end.  


"You're not quite comfortable being 'read', understood," Persephone said quietly. "Listen, I apologize, and if you don't want me to, I'll try my best not to do it again. But look!" she laughed, "I'm doing it again. You see how difficult it is for me to stop."  


Hermione laughed forgivingly in response. "It's alright. I'm just not used to it, you know."  


"Tell me, what year are you three?" Persephone asked. They told her they were about to begin their fifth year at Hogwarts. She continued asking them questions about school, and they filled her in on some of their adventures over the past four years--though they left out the part about last term and Voldemort's return to power. A thought suddenly struck Harry.  


"You're Professor Dumbledore's graddaughter. He must have told you ... I mean, I reckon your family must all know ..."  


Persephone understood what he was getting at. "Yes. I received a very interesting owl from my grandfather last summer. Very interesting." She looked grave and spoke lowly. "My parents and sister know, though Penny has her doubts. And I've been getting word to all the Aurors, but it isn't easy, not with Fudge on the alert. He's been saying he won't put up with 'any of these crazy rumors started by Dumbledore'. I tell you, it's very difficult to work for someone like that. But most of the Aurors do believe my grandfather. As a group, they respect him very much and value his opinion. Not to mention the opinions of Alastor Moody and Arabella Figg."  


"Oh! How _is_ Professor Moody?" Hermione asked.   


"He's good." Persephone smiled wryly. "Though I must say he has gotten a bit more paranoid, if that were possible. But who can blame him, after his ordeal last year?" She paused. "I'll be honest with you kids. I'm concerned. I don't know what's coming, but I don't think it will be good, and I don't think it will be easy. We've all got to be watching." 


	6. The Wedding

The next day they all went right back to the Clearwaters' again for the wedding, which was set for two o'clock in the afternoon. Everyone was looking forward to the ceremony, except Percy, who went about looking quite pale and agitated ("What if something goes wrong?" he said hoarsely), and Mrs. Weasley, who was convinced that the twins' eagerness for the wedding to begin was based on some unspoken, sinister plot.   


"Honestly, Mum," said George when she surveyed him suspiciously for the fifth time that day, "do you think we're evil? We'd never try to ruin Percy's wedding day. Though the wedding _night_, on the other hand ..."  


"GEORGE!"  


"Only joking, Mum!," he cried through convulsions of laughter. In fact everyone, including Mr. Weasley, was laughing very hard at George's joke.  


"Don't encourage him!" was all Mrs. Weasley could manage to say through her clenched teeth.  


Whatever Mrs. Weasley may have been expecting, the wedding ceremony went off without a hitch that day. At that hour, from their location in the garden, Harry and Hermione could finally see the measure of the Clearwaters' estate. The grounds were spectacular, and as they sat in the garden, they were able to see a very large lake situated down a valley and past some meadows. If they turned around, they could see the back of the house, which could really more apropriately be called a mansion. The Clearwaters appeared to be a very old wizarding family, and they had lived on this estate as long as anyone in the wizarding world could remember.  


Hermione was right, the ceremony was very much like a Muggle wedding, except for the clothes. The bridesmaids all wore matching dress robes in a rather ugly shade of mauve.   


Harry nudged Hermione as the wedding party finished walking down the aisle slowly in pairs. When Bill and Persephone Green had nearly reached the end of the aisle, he asked, "Are they _supposed_ to look ... like that?"  


Hermione shrugged, clearly puzzled as well. "I don't think so. I didn't read anywhere that the bridesmaids' robes _had_ to be ugly."  


They were both unsure what to expect Penelope to look like, but when she appeared beaming, she was wearing very becoming, bright red dress robes of embroidered silk with a high Mandarin collar. At the other end of the aisle, Percy still looked pale as he watched her walk toward him. He looked as though he might keel over at the slightest breeze.  


"D'you think Percy will make it?" Harry whispered. Hermione stifled a giggle.   


But he did make it. The minister performed the ceremony smoothly, and after the couple had exchanged rings, he pulled out his wand. As if on cue, Percy held up his left arm and Penelope held up her right arm. The minister passed his wand around their wrists, and a very thin, luminous cord came from the end of it.  


"Ooh," said Hermione, "that custom is unique to wizard weddings!" She leaned forward eagerly in her seat.  


After this, the minister declared that Percy and Penelope were married, and they kissed quitely briefly and self-consciously. Harry wrinkled his nose at Hermione, who laughed in spite of herself. All the guests rose and cheered as the couple walked back down the aisle, toward the house.  


"Well, that went really well!" exclaimed a relieved Mrs. Weasley as they all made their way toward the ballroom and the reception.   


Harry and Hermione were situated at the head table with the wedding party. They chatted happily with the two Ravenclaw bridesmaids, whom they had met the night before. Very shortly after the guests had been seated, a procession of solemn-looking House-elves carried out an enormous violet cake. As they set it on a table in the middle of the room, it began to croon a very high-pitched love song. Harry and Hermione had a very difficult time stifling their laughter at the idea of a singing cake.   


"Dunno whether I'm too keen on _eating_ that," Harry confided as a plate of cake was placed before him.   


"Oh come on, Harry, it's an invaluable cultural experience!" Hermione encouraged him. They began to eat (to Harry's relief, the cake had stopped singing when it was placed before him). He was surprised to find that it was actually quite good. His only complaint was that it appeared to stain everyone's lips a dark purple.  


After the cake, the main course was brought out, and everyone devoured their salmon and pickled asparagus enthusiastically. After the meal, their attention was directed toward the dance floor. A very large band, complete with brass section, began to play, and Percy and Penelope were directed to begin the first dance. Slowly their parents and members of the wedding party joined them. Other guests stood up and began to mill around and talk. After he had stood at the edge of the dance floor watching the dancers for several minutes, Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find Albus Dumbledore standing behind him.  


"Hello, Harry! Very good to see you again." Harry hadn't noticed Dumbledore among the wedding guests. "I was sitting at the other end of the head table, so I didn't get a chance to speak with you until now. I trust that you've enjoyed your summer."  


Harry nodded. "Thank you for arranging things with Mrs. Figg. I didn't realize she knew you."  


"Oh, yes," Dumbledore responded with a smile. "She told me how surprised you were." He leaned forward and spoke more softly. "I hope you don't mind that we didn't tell you before. But you hadn't seen her since you began your schooling at Hogwarts, and so much has happened since then that I'm afraid it just slipped both our minds."  


Harry smiled and told him that he didn't mind. As he spoke, Mrs. Figg walked up behind Professor Dumbledore.  


"Hello, dear! You look very nice today! Look at the way your robes bring out the color of your eyes," she chuckled approvingly.   


"Yeah, Mrs. Weasley picked them out for me."  


Just then the up-tempo song that had been playing ended, and band began playing a slower one. Someone grabbed Harry's shoulder from behind.   


"Hello, Grandfather, Mrs. Figg--do you mind if I borrow Harry for a moment?" It was Persephone Green. Dumbledore and Mrs. Figg smiled and began conversing with one another. "Harry," Persephone whispered, "how would you like to do me a personal favor?"  


"Um--"  


She looked over her shoulder. Charlie looked around, spotted her, and began to make his way toward her. "Please, Harry, you have to dance with me."  


"But I don't really d--"  


"You don't understand," she spoke urgently. "That Fred Weasley has been trying to distract me all night while George tried to put something in my wine. I've danced every dance so far with Charlie Weasley, who is a very nice young man, but--" she glanced backward at the encroaching Charlie a last time, "I can't take any more. I just need a break from the Weasleys, _pleeeeease_, Harry."  


"But I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would--"  


Persephone shook her head. "Already asked him. He wants to catch up with Mrs. Figg. Harry, please, you're my last hope!"   


She looked down at him with pleading eyes. As Charlie made his way toward them, Harry saw that Ginny was close behind her brother, looking at Harry hopefully. He made up his mind. "Sure, alright," he answered.  


Just then, Charlie walked up behind Persephone. "There you are! I was afraid I'd lost you. What would you say to another dance?" he asked nervously.  


She smiled very sweetly. "Oh dear, I'm sorry, but I've just promised Harry I'd dance with him. You don't mind, do you?" With that, she swept past him, dragging Harry out onto the dance floor with her. "Maybe later ..." Charlie looked crestfallen.  


"Thank you," she sighed as they began to dance. "Don't worry, you're doing fine. All you have to do is move your feet back and forth like this."  


They danced for a few minutes without talking. Harry noticed something about Persephone that he hadn't seen the night before: a long, thin scar that ran from below her left ear down to the middle of her neck, just underneath her chin. He decided not to mention it, however, and to focus on his dancing instead. He was just beginning to feel that he was getting the hang of it when the crowd on the dance floor began to pass around very small vials of a bright blue liquid.   


"The Levitarantella!" Persephone exclaimed excitedly. "Here, take one, Harry. You know how to do this, right?" She drank the potion.  


"Um, not exactly," he replied. But he drank the potion just like she had. It tasted very sweet and light. "Hey, that's pretty good. What's in it?"  


"Not too sure," she responded. "But I think the active ingredient is the same as the stuff they put into Fizzing Whizbees."  


_Now she tells me_, Harry thought, as he noticed his feet leaving the floor.  


The band began to play a very fast song which reminded Harry of a polka he had heard on a television show once. Everyone crowded onto the dance floor and formed a very large circle.   


"Grab my hand, Harry," Persephone coached him. He gave one hand to her and one to Mrs. Clearwater, who was standing on his other side. By now they were about two feet off the ground. "Here we go!"  


The crowd began to dance in a clockwise circle. The dance was a rather complicated succession of steps, but by watching carefully Harry was able to avoid being trampled. He looked across the circle to Hermione, who appeared ecstatic. She looked as though she were trying to take in every detail of the dance, and Harry supposed she regretted that she couldn't take notes and dance at the same time.  


Percy and Penelope were pushed to the middle of the circle, and the crowd danced around and around them. Everyone was laughing giddily, even Harry, who had picked up a few of the steps by now. The crowd dissolved in a blur of color and laughter. After a few minutes of dancing, the Levitating Potion began to wear off and the crowd settled back to the floor.  


"Very nice, Harry! Are you sure you've never done that before?" Persephone looked at him in amazement. Just then a scream came from near a table at the far end of the room. They both looked over apprehensively.   


A very short, stocky, red-faced wizard was holding his throat as though he were choking. But it became very evident that he could in fact breathe when a spectacular red flame issued from his mouth.   


"Cousin Thomas!" she exclaimed. "What's wrong with him?"  


Behind him Harry could hear someone sniggering. He turned to see George giving Fred a high-five.   


"Dragon Breath Drops!" George held out a handful of golf-ball sized red candies toward Harry. "We've just invented them!"   


"Mrs. Figg wasn't able to get _all_ our salamander eyes," added Fred.  


Persephone overheard this. She turned toward them with an incredulous look. "So _that's_ what you were trying to put into my drink?" She looked back at Thomas. "I set my wineglass down on that table before I came to find Harry. Thomas must have picked up my glass and finished it for me--he's been known to do that. Likes wine a bit too much, I daresay." She began to laugh. "Maybe not so much after this, though, eh?" she asked George. She, Fred, and George giggled as wedding guests backed--or ran--away from Cousin Thomas. Only Albus Dumbledore dared to approach him, and helped him out of the room, careful to keep the short man facing away from him.  


"Brilliant!" Persephone exclaimed. "Pity it wasn't me though. Now I wish I'd drunk that wine after all."  


"Dragon Breath Drops! Only five Knuts apiece!" shouted Fred. But Mrs. Weasley promptly made her way through the crowd and grabbed the candies right out of his hand.  


"I have never ... How dare you ... When we get home ..." she began -- or tried to begin -- through clenched teeth. Mrs. Clearwater walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.   


"Molly, it's alright, no harm done," she said gently. "The boys were just having a bit of fun. This is a party, after all." Mrs. Weasley apparently could think of no reply to this, though that may have been because her mind was seized with rage. She let the boys go, and they produced more Dragon Breath Drops from their pockets, and began selling them to the younger guests and children.  


The rest of the reception was relatively uneventful. The crowd saw Percy and Penelope off, and the couple waved from their horse-drawn carriage. "Going to Italy for their honeymoon," Harry overheard one of the Ravenclaw girls telling Hermione. Harry noted that Italy was a very popular vacation spot this year. He chuckled to himself as he imagined Percy and Penelope running into the Dursleys on a Tuscan streetcorner.  


When they arrived back at the Burrow that night, everyone was exhausted. Especially Fred and George, who had turned a brisk business in Dragon Breath Drops and Canary Cremes, which they had also smuggled into the wedding in their pockets.   


As Harry and Ron settled into their twin beds in Ron's room that night, Ron muttered sleepily, "Nice place the Clearwaters have, eh? Much nicer than the Burrow, for sure."  


Harry thought about this for a moment. "Nah," he finally responded, as the ghoul in the attic commenced rattling his chains threateningly. "It's nice, but I'd much rather live here."  


They both dropped off to sleep almost instantly. 


	7. The Train, the Dog, and the Knife

After the wedding, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys had only a couple of days left before they were to catch the Hogwarts Express at Platform 9-3/4. They passed these days much as they had passed the days before the wedding, except that now Hermione was less interested in reading about wizarding etiquette, and took up Harry's copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ instead.  


We're short a Keeper this year, aren't we?" she asked Harry and Ron over lunch one day.   


"Yeah," Ron answered. "I'm thinking of going out for it myself." A thought suddenly struck him. "Hermione, you're not considering trying out, are you?"  


Hermione bristled. "No, but if I did, would you be surprised? As far as you know, I might make a brilliant Keeper."  


"Yeah, I suppose so." Ron took a bit of his sandwich. "Ugh, corned beef! Harry, what've you got, egg sald? Trade me." Harry handed Ron his untouched egg salad sandwich eagerly, and took Ron's corned beef in return.  


"No," Hermione continued, "I expect I'll be too busy this year for Quidditch."  


"Why?" Ron asked. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're not getting one of those hourglass things again, are you?"  


"Of course not. I told you, I decided I was running myself ragged with that Time Turner. It's just ... I'll be busy, that's all."  


Red-faced, she took up _Quidditch Through the Ages_ again and pretended to read. Ron gave Harry a quizzical look, but Harry just shrugged his shoulders.  


The morning of September 1 dawned bright and clear. "Perfect day for a game of Quidditch," Ron sighed as they walked through the barrier to Platform 9-3/4.   


Fred, George, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley came through the barrier behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Now, you boys behave!," Mrs. Weasley told Fred and George sternly. "I hope you've got pranks out of your system for a while. You're very lucky no one was hurt in that--incident at the wedding."  


"Oh, Mum." Fred tried not to smile, but couldn't help it. "We told you, those flames are harmless."  


"Just the same!" she exclaimed. Fred and George promised to be good (though they had their fingers crossed behind their backs, Harry noticed), and loaded everyone's trunks onto the train. Mrs. Weasley hugged each one of the children in turn. It seemed to Harry that she held onto them all a bit longer than usual.   


"It's alright, Mum, we'll see you again soon," Fred said in a tone that was uncharacteristically serious. They all said goodbye to Mrs. Weasley and boarded the train. She looked as though she were fighting back tears.  


"She must really be worried," Ron said, waving out the window to his mother as the train rolled out of the station.   


"Can't blame her, really," said Hermione.   


The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione shared a compartment.. Before long, Fred and George challenged Ron and Harry to a game of Mummy Gin Rummy.   


"Ginny, why don't we go see if we can find the dessert cart?" Hermione asked pointedly.  


"No thanks, I'm not really hungry," Ginny answered, watching the card game with interest.  


Hermione cleared her throat. "Maybe someone _else_ would like something ..."  


"Yeah, I'll take some pumpkin juice!" Fred interjected.  


Ginny frowned. "Alright," she sighed as she and Hermione left the compartment.  


"Wonder what that was about?" Ron mused.  


"You'd better start wondering about your hand, I'm getting ready to beat you," George answered.  


After a few minutes, Ginny and Hermione returned to the compartment with bottled pumpkin juice for everyone. They had changed into their school robes, and a large letter "P" was pinned to Hermione's chest.   


"Hermione! You're a prefect?!" Ron exclaimed.  


She blushed. "Yes."  


"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked.  


"Well ... I was afraid you wouldn't want to ... you know ... hang around with a prefect." She quickly took a seat next to Harry.  


"Are you joking?" asked George. "This is brilliant! We've got an in with a prefect!"   


Fred nodded. "You can get us out of all kinds of trouble this year!"  


They all laughed. "Don't count on it," Hermione answered.   


"Don't worry, we'll still let you tag along with us," laughed Ron. "Won't we, Harry? Even if you don't do us any special favors." Hermione looked relieved, but didn't respond. They all sat in silence for quite a while, the four boys continuing their game.   


"Oh, we almost forgot," Ginny said at length. "We ran into Draco Malfoy in the corridor." She wrinkled her nose.  


"Yeah," Hermione said. "He made it a point to ask us if we had heard anything about You-Know-Who."   


"Yeah!" Ginny responded eagerly. "Said something like, 'No news?'" She perfectly imitated Malfoy's lazy drawl. "'Don't you think that's _odd_?'"  


Ron snorted. "That slimeball. Bet he knows something, what with Daddy being a Death Eater and all."  


Just then, as if on cue, the compartment door slid open. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stood in the doorway.   


"Look, it's a weasel convention," Malfoy drawled. Crabbe and Goyle snickered.  


"How was your summer, Malfoy?" George asked. "Have the Dark Lord over to the mansion for afternoon tea, did you?"   


Malfoy chuckled in response. "Think you'll find out something about him from me? If I did know anything--" Malfoy's eyes flickered toward the "P" pinned to Hermione's robes. "Well, well. Look at this. They've gone and made a Mudblood a prefect."  


Everyone in the compartment stood up and drew their wands at the word "Mudblood". Ron, an expression of intense hatred on his face, took a step toward Malfoy, but he was intercepted by Ginny. She stepped in front of him and faced Malfoy.  


"Don't you ever get tired of being a prejudiced, hateful little worm?" she spat.   


Malfoy laughed. Crabbe and Goyle followed suit, a bit apprehensively. "So, the baby weasel speaks," Malfoy snarled.  


"Just beat it, Malfoy," Hermione cautioned. "No matter whether you think I'm a real witch or not, according to the school I am a real prefect. And I'll report you if you don't move on."  


"Oooooh, I'm scared," he responded, but he closed the compartment door and left, with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.   


Ron was fuming. "Sometimes I just want to smash his face in! One of these days ..."  


"Just forget it, Ron," Hermione said as everyone took their seats again. "When are you going to learn? He's just not worth it."  


"Nice work, Ginny! You really told him." Fred beamed at Ginny with approval.   


"Yeah," Harry agreed.   


Ginny looked down at the floor. "Oh, well, you know ... he just made me angry, that's all."  


They resumed their card game, only this time all six of them played. A couple of hours later, when the food cart came around, they bought more pumpkin juice, along with Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans. Fred and George tried to sell Canary Cremes and Dragon Breath Drops to the witch pushing the cart, but she wasn't keen to buy candies from two seventeen-year-old students.   


Slowly, the train made its way north. The green meadows and farms outside the window gave way to dark and wild-looking forests. The boys left to change into their school robes, and by the time they re-entered the compartment, the train had pulled into the station at Hogsmeade.  


The students all crowded onto the platform, and Harry saw Hagrid leading the first-years down a path to their traditional boat ride. As he led the wide-eyed students, Hagrid turned around and waved at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They waved back as they climbed into a horse-drawn carriage with Ginny.  


It was a cloudy, starless night, threatening rain. When the students entered the Great Hall, its ceiling looked as though it were painted with puffy, dark gray clouds. They all took their places at the Gryffindor table and waited for the Sorting to begin.   


Next to Harry, Ginny gasped. "Look! Look who it is!" She was pointing at the staff table.  


There, talking animatedly to Professor Flitwick, sat Persephone Green.  


"What's she doing here?" Ron asked incredulously from Ginny's other side. "You don't think she's ..."  


"She must be!" Hermione exclaimed. She looked across the table at Harry, Ginny, and Ron. "They didn't tell anyone who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was, not even us prefects."  


"Excellent!" Fred and George cried in unison.   


"First, a friend who's a prefect," Fred said as he clasped Hermione on the shoulder, "and now, a sister-in-law who's a teacher! This is going to be our best year yet!"   


Persephone caught sight of the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, and waved at them. They waved back excitedly.   


"Isn't she _amazing_?" whispered a voice to Harry's right. Harry hadn't noticed that he had sat down next to Neville Longbottom.  


"Hello, Neville," he answered. "You know her?"  


"Yeah!" Neville replied breathlessly. "She was--is--friends with my parents. Comes over to visit my Gran every once in a while." He stared at Persephone, and she waved at him. As he waved back, his eyes took on a glazed look. Harry laughed and told an intensely attentive Neville about the wedding, and his dance with Persephone. Neville gaped in amazement at Harry's good luck.  


Soon Professor McGonagall appeared, leading the first-years to the head of the Great Hall. The Sorting, and the feast after it, proceeded just as they had every year since Harry had begun his education at Hogwarts- though he had missed two Sortings inadvertently. Once everyone had finished their dessert--pumpkin cheesecake and treacle tarts--Professor Dumbledore stood up and addressed the crowd.  


"Another year begins!" he started. "It is very good to see you all again. I trust that you have emptied your brains properly over the summer, and are ready to fill them up again over the next three terms.  


"As always, I have a few announcements to make. Considering the- events of last term--" his voice lowered at this mention of the death of Cedric Diggory at the hands of Voldemort, "--I trust that you will not be surprised when I tell you that the Forbidden Forest is, as always, off limits. I'm afraid that, considering the danger abroad, the punishment for straying into the Forest is going to be even stricter this year. This is for your own good.   


"In a related announcement, after much debate it has been decided that students in their third year and above shall be permitted to visit Hogsmeade on designated weekends, accompanied by teachers as usual." As he said this, Professor McGonagall's face tightened.   


"And, finally," Dumbledore continued, "we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. Please join me in welcoming Professor Persephone Green." ("Say that three times fast" George whispered to Fred.) "It will be her very grave responsibility to teach you to defend yourselves. Considering the raised stakes this year," Dumbledore looked around pointedly, "I trust that you will all give her your full attention and respect."  


Everyone looked at Professor Green, and she smiled at them all. Ron reached around Ginny and poked Harry in the side.  


"Look at Snape!" he mouthed. Harry looked back up to the staff table. Down the table to Professor Green's right sat Snape. But he looked different somehow; instead of wearing his usual sour expression, he seemed to be staring absently at Professor Green. When she turned to look at him, he looked quickly away.  


Harry shot Ron a perplexed look. "What does that mean?" he mouthed. Ron shrugged.  


Professor Dumbledore dismissed the students to their respective houses. Hermione gathered up the Gryffindor first-years and herded them out of the Hall. As Ron and Harry prepared to walk over to the staff table and greet Hagrid, someone tapped them from behind.   


"Hey, you two," Professor Green's voice came from behind them. They turned around. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I've brought my dog _Snuffles_ with me--" she winked "--would you two like to come and meet him?"  


Harry could barely contain his excitement. He and Ron looked at each other. "Yeah!" was all they could say in response.  


They followed Professor Green to her office. When he entered it, Harry barely recognized the room. Last year, Professor Moody's Dark magic detectors had been scattered all around it; the year before, Professor Lupin had kept Dark creatures in here. Interesting as they were, none of the previous contents of this room were anywhere near as fascinating as what Ron and Harry were now busily taking in. Weapons of all kinds were mounted on the walls--spears, swords, knives, funny-shaped throwing stars, and a boomerang. In addition, three guitars leaned against the wall behind the desk.  
"Wow!" Ron exclaimed.   
"Don't touch anything!" Professor Green warned him. "Just a second." She opened a door to an adjoining room and signaled to someone inside. A very large black dog bounded into her office, and promptly transformed into the exact person Harry had been most anxious to see--his godfather, Sirius Black.  


"Harry," Sirius said as he embraced him. "I'm very glad to see you."  


"I didn't know you'd be here!" Harry replied.  


"No one did. Dumbledore arranged it. Thought I would be safer here now--as long as I kept my dog form around people, that is. He figured this would be the last place the Ministry would expect me to be, now that they're convinced I've fled the country."  


"So you're staying? Here, at Hogwarts?"  


"Yeah," Sirius smiled. "Some of the time, anyway. I'm going to be helping Dumbledore try to figure out what Voldemort's next move is." Ron grimaced upon hearing the name.   


Just then, there was a knock at the door. They all jumped. Sirius transformed back into a dog instantly. After ensuring that he was safely disguised, Professor Green opened the door. Dumbledore walked in.  


"Ah, I thought I might find you here," he smiled to Ron and Harry. "Persephone, I was going for a walk around the lake, and wondered if I might take Snuffles with me."  


"Of course," she responded.   


"Thank you." Dumbledore smiled as Sirius the dog licked Harry's and Ron's faces, then bounded to his side. "I trust that you won't keep these boys up too late? They'll have a busy day tomorrow. But I'm sure you know that better than anyone."  


She laughed. "Yes, I'll be sure to get them back to Gryffindor tower at a reasonable hour." She, Harry, and Ron said goodnight to Sirius and Dumbledore. Professor Green closed the door.  


"So you know he's here," she began, walking over to her desk and taking a seat behind it, "but no one else besides Hermione is to find out. You understand how dangerous things could get for him if anyone does. It's very important that you keep this in the strictest confidence. We're to mention him in conversation only as my dog Snuffles. Can I trust you to remember that?"  


Harry and Ron nodded. "Of course. But listen--why didn't you tell us you were teaching here?" Ron asked.  


Professor Green smiled. "I was going to mention it, but I'm afraid I forgot. At the rehearsal dinner, I was too interested in hearing all the stories of your adventures here--wanted to get a good idea what kind of mischievous troublemakers I was going to be up against." She smiled. "I was going to tell you at the wedding, but I guess I forgot, what with your brothers' little joke and all."  


Harry and Ron returned Professor Green's friendly smile. As she spoke, Ron had been distracted by a luminous golden dagger hanging on the wall behind her head. She followed his gaze and turned around.  


"Ah, yes," she said as she took it down from the wall, "This dagger is one of my favorites." She looked up from it unexpectedly, with an excited smile, like a child with a favorite toy. "Check this out."  


She picked a piece of parchment up off her desk and held it by a corner with her left hand. With her other hand, she ran the dagger down the middle of the parchment. It split instantly and soundlessly, as though it offered the blade no resistance at all.   


"Woah," Harry said quietly. He tried not to imagine what would happen if the dagger came into contact with a person's skin.  


"That's nothing," said Professor Green. "Ron, will you hold up these two pieces of parchment?" She gave the two parchment halves to Ron. He held them up next to each other.  


She placed the dagger between and below the two pieces, and began to move it upward. As she did, Harry gasped--the two halves of parchment mended as the dagger passed between them, like a zipper joining two pieces of cloth.  


Professor Green set the dagger on her desk and took the parchment from Ron. She grasped either end and pulled it taut so that they could see that it was mended seamlessly.  


"This is a Healing Dagger," she explained. "Very handy for defending yourself against Dark wizards, if you don't wish to do them any lasting harm. Just as long as they don't get it away from you ... That's how I got this." She turned her head to the right and pointed at the long, thin scar on her neck. "But that's a whole other story. I may tell it to you sometime. But not tonight. It's late, and about time you two headed up to bed." 


	8. First Day Back

"Wormtail?"  


"No, my Lord. It's me. Lucius."  


The tall, thin man stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He pulled off his hood to reveal an angular face and blond hair. He paused for a moment, then made his way across the room toward the dark-haired man. Lucius bowed.  


"You have had a visitor?"  


"Yes, my Lord." Lucius' voice was cold and confident, although he avoided looking the other man in the face. "Just as you predicted."  


A high-pitched laugh began in the back of the dark-haired man's throat. "He wanted to see me?"  


"Yes."  


The dark-haired man turned away from Lucius and faced the fireplace. Outside, the wind was roaring. A storm was building.  


"What did you tell him?"  


"Just what you directed me to say. I told him what you required."  


"Excellent, Lucius. He will come again?"  


"Yes. He consented to gather the items you requested. He will return in a few days."  


"Good." The dark-haired man said this in low voice, almost a hiss. "Thank you, Lucius."  


But Lucius did not leave the room. He stood in the same spot and stared at the floor for a moment. Just as he was about to say something, the dark-haired man spoke.  


"You want to know my plans."  


Lucius didn't answer. He simply stared at the floor. The dark-haired man turned around and fixed his catlike gaze upon Lucius, who continued to look downward.  


"Yes, of course you do. They all want to know."  


"I'm getting owls every day, my Lord. They're--"  


"They're restless. Yes, I know." He considered this for a moment. "Lucius, do you know what my mistake was?"  


Lucius appeared confused. "My Lord?"  


"My mistake." He enunciated this clearly, though he knew that Lucius had understood him. "I have been going about things in the wrong way. I see that now."  


Lucius stared fixedly at the floor. He did not speak.  


"Yes, during my exile I had a great deal of time to reconsider my approach. My aims were many, Lucius. I was unfocused. I should have concentrated on one thing at a time. One goal. I have that focus now." The man narrowed his catlike eyes and surveyed Lucius. "Tell them that they must wait. I must wait, so they will, too. Once I have attained my goal, no one will be able to stop us. Not the Ministry, not that fool Dumbledore, not even--" his voice quieted to a whisper "--Harry Potter. Then they shall wreak all the mayhem they like, unchecked. But until then--" he turned toward the window, outside which the rain was beginning to fall "--we must wait."  


Lucius bowed obsequiously, but his puzzlement was evident.  


"Your goal, my Lord?"  


The man laughed at Lucius' perseverance, then sighed. "Come now, you know what that is. I will be immortal. Truly immortal, this time--not vulnerable like before." He turned to face Lucius again. "You want to know how. You will find out soon." The man drew his wand and inspected it idly. Lucius started. "Now," the man pocketed his wand once again, "leave. It is late."  


Lucius pulled his hood up over his head, turned, and opened the door. Heavy sheets of rain were falling now. Without looking back, he walked out into the storm. The wind blew the door shut behind him.  


In his bed, Harry trembled. He briefly opened his eyes, but exhaustion soon overtook him again. He closed his eyes and drifted off.   


***  


On the first day of classes, Harry and Ron met Hermione in the Common Room and caught her up on the events of the previous night and Sirius' presence at Hogwarts. The three of them then went to the Great Hall and sat down to breakfast together at the Gryffindor table. Harry was surprised to see that a bright sun shone down from the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall.  


"I thought it was raining," he mumbled to himself.  


"What's 'at?" Ron said through a mouthful of blueberry muffin.  


"Oh, nothing, just ... Didn't it rain last night? I thought I remembered hearing thunder ..."  


Hermione and Ron looked across Harry at each other. "You must have been dreaming," Hermione told him matter-of-factly as she began to butter her toast.  


Harry frowned. "Yeah, I suppose so." Hermione was right; it was a dream. He remembered now. He had dreamt of a storm, but all he could recall were a heavy rain, a man with a hood ... and red eyes with slits, like a cat's.  


Harry gasped.  


He had had this dream twice before, over the summer. The first time was the night after he had arrived back at the Dursleys'. The second had been a couple of weeks later. But he could never remember exactly what was said by the two men in the dream, or even who the other man--the one in the hood--was. He concentrated hard.  


"Harry, what's wrong?" asked Ron, looking alarmed. Harry hadn't noticed the other two staring at him.  


"Nothing," he lied. If he couldn't remember anything of use, it would be better not to mention the dream. It would only scare Ron and Hermione. Harry thought about telling Dumbledore about the dream, but it seemed unimportant, especially as Harry couldn't even recall what had happened in it. It was probably just a nightmare. After all, he had just dueled with, and nearly been killed by, Voldemort the previous term.  


Hermione and Ron didn't look convinced, but fortunately for Harry the mail owls chose precisely that moment to fly in through the windows. A course schedule was dropped onto the plate of every student sitting in the Great Hall. Hermione began to read from hers.  


"Double Care of Magical Creatures with Hufflepuff this morning, then Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch. Hmmm," she paused thoughtfully. "I wonder what Professor Green has planned this term? We covered curse- and hex-deflection pretty thoroughly last year," she finished apprehensively, as though she hoped what she was saying was true, but feared that she might be mistaken. Clearly she didn't look forward to being put under the Imperius Curse again.  


A thought struck Ron. "Hey, you don't think she can teach us to read people's feelings, do you?"   


Hermione considered this. "I doubt it. Anyway, even if she could, I'm sure it would take years to master." She took a bite of toast, then spoke, struck by a sudden impulse. "Hey, I bet if we finish early enough, we could talk to Hagrid for a bit before class!"   


They rushed through breakfast and finished eating before the rest of the students. As soon as they were done, they got up from the table and walked out the huge doors to the entrance hall. They had only taken a few steps toward the castle's great oak front doors when they heard loud noises coming toward them from upstairs.  


Peeves rounded a corner and appeared at the top of the flight of stairs that led up to the second floor. He was cackling loudly and throwing books from a dwindling pile that he carried under one arm. He seemed delighted at the prospect of tossing the books from the landing onto the floor of the entrance hall below, and promptly began doing so.  


"Peeves!" Professor Green rounded the corner behind him, out of breath. "Stop! Peeves, don't!"  


Peeves just cackled even more madly and threw the last book into the entrance hall, which was now littered with torn pages and volumes lying at odd angles. Students drawn by the noise had begun to peek out of the Great Hall in an attempt to find out what was going on. Snape glided past them and looked up at the landing.  


"What on earth is going on here?" he asked icily.  


But Peeves had been distracted by something. He had been depleting the pile under his arm by pulling books from the bottom of it, and now that he had run out of books, he noticed an item that had obviously been sitting on top of the pile he had grabbed from Professor Green's office. It was difficult for Harry to see, but it looked like a very small, brownish box.  


Professor Green pulled out her wand. Her eyes grew wide in fear.   
"Peeves! Give it back, now. Slowly." She spoke in a forced calm.  


Peeves looked at her. "Professor wants it back, does she? Hmmm." He appeared to consider this. "She shall have it then. Peevsie shall not keep it from her, no he shan't." He moved to hand the box back to Professor Green, and she stretched out her wand hand to take it. Then, at the very last second, he appeared to change his mind. He hurled the box toward the marble floor of the entrance hall with all his might.  


Snape lunged to catch the box, but he was a split second too slow. The box hit the floor with a loud bang--and nothing was left of it but splinters.  


Professor Green looked as though Peeves had grabbed her heart out of her chest and hurled it down to the floor instead. She screamed and flew down the stairs to kneel before the spot where the little box lay in ruins. She touched the broken pieces with her fingers, as though she couldn't bring her mind to grasp the fact that the thing was destroyed.  


Snape stood nearby, looking stricken. His expression quickly turned to one of barely controlled rage. "PEEVES!" he shouted. "The Baron will hear about this, you can be sure of that!"  


Peeves, genuinely startled for once, flew off down the corridor the way he'd come. Snape ran up the stairs after him. But Professor Green was oblivious to these events. She continued touching the broken pieces of the little box with her fingertips, her eyes wide in disbelief.  


Hermione rushed over and kneeled down next to her. "Oh, was it very valuable?" she asked softly.   


Professor Green looked up at her, her eyes still wide, her mouth open. She looked lost for words. "Yes," she finally managed to say.  


"Well, I'm sure there's some sort of restorative charm that can mend it. I'll get Professor Flitwick, maybe he knows ..." Hermione's voice trailed off as Professor Green began to shake her head.  


"No," she whispered, "it's useless once it's broken." She closed her eyes and thought about this for a moment. Then she opened them again and said, "but I would like to collect the pieces. Would you help me, Hermione?"  


"Of course," Hermione responded quickly, and shot Harry and Ron a commanding look. By now most of the students had returned to their breakfast. Harry and Ron scrambled over to kneel next to Hermione and Professor Green. As Harry began to pick up the pieces, he noticed that they looked and felt more like ivory than like wood, and that some of the pieces were large enough that bits of the original carving were still visible. On one shard he could just make out the leg of an animal--perhaps a horse or cow--and on another he could see the head of a person. Near the middle of the heap of shards, he found a single long, dark hair.  


They picked up every piece they could find, even the really tiny fragments, and handed them to Professor Green. She still looked a bit pale. "Thank you," she said slowly, looking down at the pieces in her hands. "It was ... It was the last thing he ever gave me, you know. Before he died."  


With that she swept back up the stairs, leaving her torn books on the entrance hall floor.  


"That was really horrible!" Hermione exclaimed. It was warm and sunny outside, and they had just climbed the steps to Hagrid's front porch. "Someone should really do something about that poltergeist."  


"I reckon someone will, now," Ron answered. "Did you see Snape? I thought he would explode."  


That would have been worth seeing, Harry thought to himself.  


Ron knocked on Hagrid's front door. "What _was_ that thing, anyway? Some kind of jewelry box?"  


Hermione shook her head. "No, didn't you hear what she said? 'It's useless once it's broken.' It must do something. I expect it was some sort of magical object."  


Hagrid opened the door wide. "Well, there yeh are!" he exclaimed. He hugged each of them in turn, nearly squashing them. "I was hopin' ter say hello ter yeh last night."  


"Er, Professor Green needed to speak to us," Harry explained. By now the other students had begun arriving, and Hagrid didn't seem to expect any further explanation.   


"Ah well, yer here now, aren't ya?" Hagrid smiled. "I've got a surprise for yeh all back in the pumpkin patch. Let's have a look, shall we?"  


The students let Hagrid lead the way around his hut to the pumpkin patch behind it. More correctly, he led the way to the plot of land that had formerly been his pumpkin patch; it was now covered in slime, and no plants grew anywhere within it.  


Situated at the far corner of the patch was a gigantic snail, chartreuse in color.   


"Tha's a Streeler," Hagrid announced. "Not too excitin', I know, but he's pretty, ain't he? Changes color on the hour." He beamed at the six foot-tall snail. "Now, they leave a venomous trail, so be sure not to step in the slime. Come around the outside of the fence to get a better look."  


They spent the class period taking notes on Streelers and observing the one sitting before them. They were fortunate enough to see it change color twice: first to a dark red, and then to a vivid purple. Two hours later, relieved to have met a pet of Hagrid's that didn't seem inclined to injure them, the class walked back up to the Great Hall and lunch.

After lunch, the Gryffindors filed upstairs to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, wondering whether Professor Green had recovered from her ordeal earlier that day. They found her sitting behind her desk, wearing her usual sad smile. Harry noticed that she was a bit red around the eyes.  


"Thank you," she whispered to Harry, Ron, and Hermione as they took their seats. They smiled back in acknowledgment.  


Once Professor Green had called the roll, she stood in front of her desk and surveyed the class. "Gryffindor fifth-years," she began as she smiled down at them. "I know that Professor Dumbledore has impressed upon all of you the gravity of the situation facing us. He has it on very good authority," she shot Harry a glance as she said this, "that the Dark Lord has returned to power. And although we have not seen nor heard from him yet, Professor Dumbledore believes that he could surface at any time, in any place." The students shifted nervously in their seats. They didn't seem entirely comfortable with the prospect of facing Voldemort at any moment.  


"I know it's difficult to hear, but I'm afraid it's the truth. I know you lost a fellow student last year. Cedric Diggory." Her voice lowered and became quieter. "I am told that he was a good young man who died simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is the sort of unpredictable and merciless threat that I've been hired to protect you against." Her eyes narrowed. "As you can well imagine, I take this responsibility very seriously. I have a lot to teach you this year. I can promise you that I will work you harder than any teacher ever has, and ask more of you than you think I have a right to. But remember," her eyes twinkled familiary, reminding Harry of Dumbledore, "that this is for your own protection. Remember that what you learn in this class could save your life."  


She paused and looked around the class. "Now, I'll need a a brave soul to help me show you what you're to learn this term. Volunteers?"  


No one raised a hand, not even Hermione. Once again the students tensed and shifted.   


Finally, a timid hand rose into the air from the front row.   


"Neville?" Harry asked incredulously. Neville's expression was a combination of determination, shock at his own daring, and mind-bending fear. Professor Green smiled at him.  


"Neville!" she exclaimed. "Come up here and face me." She placed him on one side of the room, set her wand on her desk, and stood across the room from him.   


"Now. Curse me."  


"What?" Neville looked around awkwardly.  


Professor Green just smiled. "Any curse will do. Jelly-Legs, full Body-Bind ... Just curse me."  


Neville thought hard and seemed to settle on a curse. He raised his wand tentatively. "_Petr_--"  


But before he could even pronounce the curse, Professor Green had crossed the room. She moved so quickly that no one could see exactly what she had done, but in an instant Neville's wand had flown into the second row of desks, and he was laying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. Professor Green looked down at him. Everyone gasped.  


"You all right?" she asked cheerfully as she helped Neville to his feet. He looked more than alright; on his face he wore a glazed look of utter bliss.  


"But you were unarmed!" Parvati blurted out. "How did you do that?"  


Neville took his seat again. "A lot of wizards consider Muggle self defense tactics worthless," she answered. "In my opinion, those wizards have never stared down the wrong end of a Dark wizard's wand unarmed. This term we will be studying self-defense. Muggle-style." 


	9. An Evening Jog

For the next hour, the Gryffindor fifth-years took notes on various Muggle methods of self-defense: kickboxing, Judo, karate, kung fu. They learned basic offensive tactics, defensive tactics, philosophies, and principles of each discipline. Just before the bell was to ring, Professor Green informed them that she was going to teach them a combination of techniques that she had distilled herself, after years of study.   


"Finally," she announced, as they began to pack away their quills and parchment, "Professor Dumbledore has authorized me to ... appropriate some of your free time. All students in the school, divided by year, are to report to me one morning and one evening a week for ... training. You, along with the other fifth-years, will meet me on the front lawn every Friday evening at five o'clock, and every Monday morning at six. And you will wear the clothes and shoes that I put on your materials lists at the beginning of the year." The students gaped at each other.  


"Does she _really_ expect us to get up that early?" Ron whispered to Harry.   


Professor Green raised her hand to silence the whispering that had just broken out. "Yes, I do expect you to get up that early. If you make me come into your dormitories after you," she took on a menacing tone, "you won't be too happy about it."  


"She can't do that ... Can she?" Seamus asked Dean tentatively.  


Professor Green hadn't heard Seamus' words, but she had seen his expression. "Try me," was all she said in response.  


The bell rang and the Gryffindor fifth-years filed out of the classroom. "Well, I think it will be good for us," Hermione told Ron and Harry. "We haven't got much exercise over the past four years, have we?"  


"Hermione," answered Ron, exasperated, "what's the point of exercise when you've got magic? When I learn to Apparate, I'm never walking anywhere."  


"Yeah, and you might turn out to look like Ludo Bagman, too," Harry laughed, remembering the overweight former Quidditch player who had refereed the Triwizard Tournament last year. Ron frowned.  


That night at dinner, Angelina Johnson came around to speak to Harry. "I've just talked to Fred, George, Katie, and Alicia," she said, referring to the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "We need a new Keeper. Can you come out at nine o'clock sharp Saturday morning to help us judge? We'll also need to vote on a new team captain then."  


"Sure," Harry responded, remembering his workout scheduled for Friday evening, and hoping to himself that he would still be physically intact by Saturday morning.   


"Great," Angelina smiled. "I'll go tell the others."  


"Saturday morning?" Hermione asked thoughtfully.   


"Yeah." Ron looked at Hermione curiously. "Say, what are you planning, anyway? You've got that same look you had last year when you went on that 'spew' kick. You haven't developed some grudge against Quidditch now, have you?"  


"No, of course not!" Hermione looked insulted. "I'm not _planning_ anything. I'm just going to watch, that's all." Suddenly she seemed to catch sight of someone she wanted to talk to. She quickly gulped down the rest of her pumpkin juice and stood up. "Excuse me, you two. I've got to have a word with someone." She ran over to join a crowd of younger Gryffindor girls leaving the Great Hall.  


"Hey," Harry nudged Ron, "Keeper tryouts! You interested?"  


Ron's face brightened. "Yeah," he mused. He thought for a moment, then looked around. "I bet there'll be a lot of people trying out. Some older kids." He stared at a burly sixth-year near the end of the table. After a moment, he seemed to make up his mind. "Well, why not? I'm not a bad Quidditch player. Anyway, what's the worst that could happen?"

***

Harry, Ron, and Hermione settled into school life easily, picking up the old routines that had grown so familiar over the last four years. Professor McGonagall was starting to teach them the beginnings of human transfiguration, much to Hermione's delight. Professor Flitwick began the first Charms class with a dramatic Levitation Charm, which he demonstrated on Neville's toad, Trevor. By the end of the week, it seemed that academically, the year was shaping up to be their most interesting, and challenging, yet.   


Double Potions with the Slytherins on Friday afternoon ("Again!?" Ron protested when he noticed it on the schedule) was no exception. The Gryffindors arrived in class punctually, and quietly began to set up their cauldrons. Draco Malfoy, along with Pansy Parkinson and several other Slytherins, sauntered in a few minutes late. Quite unexpectedly, Snape gave them the same sour look he usually reserved for members of other Houses.  


"Please do not make a habit," he spat, "of arriving late to my class." The Slytherins, taken aback, scuttled to their desks and prepared their cauldrons.   


Harry, Ron, and Hermione shot puzzled looks at each other.  


"Wonder what that was all about?" Hermione whispered as they wound their way out of the dungeon corridor after class. It had gone rather well, for Potions--Snape hadn't yelled at, threatened detention to, or insulted any student, even Harry, all class period.   


"Wonder if he's sick?" Harry mused. Suddenly he remembered the mysterious task Snape had taken on at the end of last term, in the hospital wing. "He did seem a bit distracted."  


"It's just the first day," Ron answered. "Maybe he wants to start the year off slowly, give himself something to work up to. Come on, we've got to change and meet Green outside." They made their way up to Gryffindor Tower and their dormitories.  


The fifth-year students assembled on the lawn apprehensively at five o'clock that evening. It was unusually warm for autumn, and the shadows of the trees of the Forbidden Forest almost reached the castle walls. Professor Green walked out the front doors and down the great stone steps, dressed in her own gray robes and sneakers, identical to the ones the students wore. She also wore a green bandana tied over her head to hold back her hair, which was plaited into two very long braids that fell down her back. A very large black dog trotted along at her side.  


"Snuffles!" Harry cried as the dog ran up to him cheerfully. He, Ron, and Hermione petted the dog, which promptly returned to Professor Green. Behind them, a voice snickered.  


"What breed of dog is that?" It was Draco Malfoy. "Looks like a mutt ... like the canine version of--" he walked up level with Hermione and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, hello," he said, as though he hadn't seen her. She looked away, pointedly ignoring him. On Hermione's other side, Ron seethed silently.  


"There's no need to look so fearful," Professor Green addressed the fifth-years, "unless you're afraid of hard work." The Hufflepuffs looked encouraged by this. "Now," she paced back and forth, surveying the crowd, "tonight I'm going to get some idea what I've got to work with. Let's get started. Follow me." She turned and walked down to the shore of the lake. The students followed her.  


"It's simple," she said once they had all gathered at the lakeside. "You're going to run around the lake, twice. And I'm going to time you."  


"Are you kidding?" Draco Malfoy asked disgustedly. "It must be miles around this lake."  


"Two point five miles, to be exact," Professor Green answered him. "And no, I'm not kidding, Mr. Malfoy." She drew a small silver whistle and a regular Muggle stopwatch from her pocket.   


"But the path around the lake goes right past the Forbidden Forest," Lavender put in timidly.   


"Don't worry, I'll be running with you. Now, get ready," Professor Green said, looking at the watch and putting the whistle to her mouth. The stunned students looked around, obviously not mentally prepared for a five-mile run.  


"GO!"   


Professor Green blew the whistle and pressed a button on the stopwatch. For a moment, the students stood in a state of disarry. Some, including Harry, Ron, Hermione, and a group of Hufflepuffs, began to trot along at a slow pace. Others attempted to walk, or milled around. Malfoy and a couple of other Slytherin boys stood where they were.  


Professor Green walked up to them slowly. "I ... said ... MOVE!" she shouted at them from a very close distance. Startled, they began to jog along behind the other fifth-years.  


No one was really sure how long they ran, but to all the students, it seemed like an eternity. And all the while, Professor Green and the dog followed them. Sometimes she would speed up to run beside the faster students, and sometimes she would drop back to the slower ones, but always she was yelling.  


"Come on, Patil! Don't hold out on me."  


"Malfoy, my little sister could run faster than that. When she was two."  


"Potter! Is that the best you can do?"  


The only student she didn't harp on was Neville. "Good job," she told him encouragingly. He tried to return a thankful smile, but only managed a grimace of pain.   


Finally, the students rounded the last curve. Some dropped to the ground, panting. Others just stood and tried to catch their breath. Harry was pleased to see that he had been one of the first to finish. Professor Green looked at her stopwatch and frowned.  


"Pitiful. Haven't you kids engaged in any physical activity at all since you got here?" No one could answer; they were too busy trying to breathe. She shook her head. "Take a walk around the lawn to cool down, and then get up to the Great Hall for dinner."  


Harry, Ron, and Hermione circled the lawn once, but they could still barely talk as they made their way up to the castle. Finally, Harry managed to speak. "She's got no mercy. She's like some kind of a drill instructor, or something."  


"A what?" Ron asked.  


"You know, in the army, they have ... oh, never mind."  


"I'm dying," moaned Milicent Bulstrode behind them.   


"No, you're not," Malfoy's nearly-breathless voice called coldly in response. "But I'll tell you one thing, you're an idiot if you take orders from her again. That's the last time I run circles around the lake like some Muggle."  


Hermione turned around. "What are you talking about, Malfoy? She's our teacher. You don't have a say."  


Malfoy smiled smugly. "You'll see." 


	10. The New Keeper

The next morning after breakfast, Harry and Ron, still aching from the previous night's run, made their way down to the Quidditch pitch. Ron was nervous.  


"I still wish I could use your Firebolt, Harry," he said, looking disinterestedly at the school broom in his right hand.  


Harry sighed. He had told Ron a million times already. "It wouldn't help; you wouldn't be using a Firebolt during the games. Plus, you're not used to it, so you might actually perform worse on it. And--"  


"I know, I know," Ron interrupted resignedly, "none of the others will be trying out on Firebolts either." They made their way onto the field and walked over to the small group of hopeful Gryffindors gathered at the far side. Two rather large seventh-years stood talking with a freckle-faced sixth-year and Seamus Finnigan.   


"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked, looking around. "She said she'd meet us here."  


"I dunno."  


Harry saw that the other members of the team were seated in the first row of the stands. He wished Ron good luck and took a seat next to George.  


"Right then, let's get started," Angelina called to the hopefuls. She, Katie, and Alicia picked up their brooms and a Quaffle and walked out onto the field. Together they kicked off from the ground and soared into the air. It looked like fun, Harry thought; he began to grow excited about the coming Quidditch season. After all, it had been over a year since he'd played Quidditch at Hogwarts.  


"First contestant," Katie shouted, "come on up and guard that goal." She pointed to the three goal hoops to Harry's left.  


The contestants conferred briefly, and finally Bernard Skinner, one of the seventh-year boys, flew up to the scoring area. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia began trying to score. Bernard blocked most of their attempts to score, but they managed to get the ball past him five times.  


"He's alright," Fred said to George. "Better than I expected. He's definitely improved since he tried out for Beater with us." He grinned.  


"Yeah, he could barely keep himself from getting hit by the Bludger, much less hit it toward another player," George agreed.  


One by one, each contestant took his or her turn trying to prevent the three Chasers from scoring. Seamus did quite well, though he wasn't as fast as the older boys. Finally it was Ron's turn.  


He looked at Harry and smiled anxiously as he kicked off from the ground.   


"Ron's pretty good," George told Harry, "but I'm not sure how he'll do against this lot."  


But to George's surprise (and, although he never would've admitted it, Harry's), Ron was the more successful than any of the other contestants. Alicia, Angelina, and Katie were so impressed that they even attempted a Hawkshead Attacking Formation, just to see how he would respond. The three of them, side by side, moved menacingly toward the goal hoops. Ron looked nervous, but he stood his ground. Finally, Angelina threw the Quaffle toward the middle hoop--and Ron batted it out of the way just in time.  


"Brilliant, Ron!" George cried, impressed. "They only scored on him twice! He might even give Oliver Wood a run for his money, if he were still here."  


Just then, two figures came running out onto the Quidditch pitch. One, the brunette, ran ahead and seemed to be coaxing the other to the side of the field where Harry, Fred, and George sat. The second, more reluctant, figure carried a battered old broomstick and had flaming red hair that gleamed in the sunlight.  


"Hermione?" Harry mumbled.  


"Ginny?" Fred and George said at once.  


Hermione reached the three of them first. "We're not too late, are we? They haven't picked a Keeper yet, I mean?" Fred and George shook their heads. "Harry," she whispered, "I've just convinced her to come and try out, it took me all morning. You've got to let her, now I've got her all the way down here."  


"Hang on," said Fred incredulously as Ginny joined them, "you mean _she's_ trying out? Um, Ginny," he looked nervously at George, "I don't think you understand. I mean, Keeper is a dangerous position to play."  


"Oh, honestly! They're all dangerous positions!" Hermione fumed. "Are you going to let her try out or not?"  


"Wait a second, is it your idea or hers? Ginny," George asked, "do you want to try out?"  


Ginny looked around and swallowed hard. "Yes," she answered.   


"Hey Ginny! Hermione!" Ron and the three Chasers had just landed nearby. "You missed it! I was brilliant! Wasn't I, Harry? Come on, admit it." He grinned at Harry, oblivious to the fact that everyone's gaze was focused on Ginny, not him.  


"Yeah," Harry said, realizing just a bit too slowly that Ron was speaking to him.   


"Oy, you three!" called George to the Chasers. "We have another contestant here." He pointed at Ginny. Ron's expression changed from triumphant to puzzled. He frowned at Ginny.  


Angelina looked over at her. "Well, come on then. Let's see what you can do."  


Ginny rushed out onto the field. The four of them kicked off, and Ginny situated herself in front of the goal hoops. The three Chasers began trying to score, slowly at first, as though they didn't expect Ginny to be able to keep up. But, to everyone's surprise, Ginny blocked every shot they took. Finally they began to throw the Quaffle harder--and still failed to score.  


"Blimey, she's fast," George whispered. "I knew she could play, but ..." His voice trailed off.  


The three Chasers seemed as surprised at Ginny's performance as Fred, George, Ron, and Harry were. They threw the Quaffle at the goals harder and harder, still to no avail, until finally Alicia saw a perfect opportunity to score. Ginny had placed herself just a bit too high, and Alicia threw the ball below her and at an angle. In a flash, Ginny sped to meet the ball, but still she couldn't reach it in time. As the spectators watched open mouthed, she hooked her right foot around the broomstick and, still holding onto the stick with her right hand, dropped the rest of her body down below it, so that she was hanging off. Her fingertips caught the ball just in time to knock it off-course. It flew just below the rim of the goal hoop.  


"Starfish and stick! Perfectly executed!" George yelled in amazement. He stood up, and Fred followed suit.  


"Ginny!" Fred bellowed as she dismounted. "That was--"  


"Amazing!" George interrupted. "Really. How did you ... Where did you learn to fly like that?" They ran over to meet her on the field.  


Ginny blushed. "Well, I just taught myself, mostly. Hermione helped me practice a bit over the summer." A sheepish grin crept over her face as she glanced at Hermione.  


Hermione was beaming. "Ha! She's a natural! I told her she'd make a perfect Keeper. What do you think, Ron, can you believe it?"  


But Ron looked completely horrified. He had just been shown up at Quidditch by his little sister.  


"Hermione," he whispered hoarsely. "You ... you told her to try out? You did this?"  


Hermione frowned at him. "No, Ron, that's the point--_she_ did this. She was brilliant! Say, what's wrong with you, anyway?"  


But Ron was shaking his head as though he were trying to convince himself it was all a bad dream.  


"I'm going back to the castle," he mumbled, and swept out of the stands, off the field, and up to the Great Hall.  


"Oh, really!" Hermione exclaimed. Just then Ginny walked over to the stands where she and Harry stood.   


"They've just told me, Hermione! I'm the new Keeper!"  


"Well, of course you are! See? I told you you were good!"  


"Yeah, Ginny," Harry added. "That was ... awesome."  


Ginny smiled at him, then looked around. "Say, where's Ron? He's the Reserve Keeper; they'll be wanting to tell him."  


"Um, he had to go back to the castle for something. We'll tell him," answered Hermione, glancing meaningfully at Harry. Neither of them wanted to ruin Ginny's moment in the sun by telling her about Ron's reaction.  


Harry crawled through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room fifteen minutes later to find Ron sitting in a corner, dejected. Harry walked over timidly and sat down. He didn't know what to expect from Ron; he was moody, and Harry was afraid Ron might lash out at him. Still, Harry spoke.  


"Ron? You alright?"  


"I wanted that," Ron mumbled, looking at the floor. "I really wanted it. Been thinking about it all summer."  


"Well, it's alright. Hey, listen, you're the Reserve!"  


This news did not alter Ron's mood. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and looked up at Harry earnestly. "You don't understand, Harry. There's always someone better." He paused and looked down again. "Bill and Percy were each Head Boy. They were better at school than I am. You're--" he gestured listlessly toward Harry, "you're Harry Potter. You're more popular than I am. I wanted to be good at something, just for a little while. I wanted to be the best. And for a second I thought I was. But I'm not."  


Ron looked back up at Harry. "I don't blame you, Harry. I don't even blame Hermione--she meant well. It's nobody's fault. I guess ... I guess there's just nothing that I'm the best at."   


Harry didn't know what to say. He had seen Ron angry; he knew how to handle that. But seeing Ron depressed was another thing altogether.   


At that moment, Hermione, Ginny, and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team entered the Common Room. Hermione walked determinedly over to Harry and Ron.  


"Now you listen, Ron," she began in a whisper, "this is Ginny's moment and you are not going to ruin it for her! You always go on about how difficult it is for you, with five older brothers--well, she's got six! Imagine how it is for her! She's--" But Ron put up a hand to stop her.  


"It's alright," he mumbled. "Don't worry." He sighed. "I'd better go congratulate her."  


Putting on a cheerful mask that veiled his despondency very thinly, Ron got up, crossed the room, and patted Ginny on the shoulder as he spoke to her. Hermione put a finger to her lips and watched.  


"Hmmm. Well, I don't reckon I handled that very well, did I? Is he very upset?" she asked, turning to Harry.  


"Yeah." Harry stood up. "He went on about how he wanted to be the best at something, just for a little while. He took it pretty hard."  


Hermione suddenly looked ashamed. "Oh," was all she said. She watched Ron smiling at, and talking with, the Gryffindor Quidditch team members.   


Suddenly Harry had an idea. "Come on," he said to Hermione. "I think I know something that might cheer him up. Let's see if he feels like paying a visit to Hagrid." 


	11. Malfoy's Plan

That day after lunch, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked down to Hagrid's hut. When Hagrid opened his door to find them standing on his front porch, he was pleasantly surprised.  


"Well, hullo!" Hagrid boomed. "Yer just in time! I've just been bakin' some scones. Come in!"  


They filed inside and sat around his table, thankful that they had just eaten a large lunch. Fang the boarhound jumped on them all in turn, but greeted Harry with particular enthusiasm. "No thanks, Hagrid," Harry declined, pushing Fang down. "We've just eaten."  


"Oh," Hagrid's face fell. "Maybe just a bit o'tea then."  


As he served their tea, Hagrid noticed Ron's preoccupation and unusual silence. He smiled. "Just heard about yer sister, Ron," he said.  


Ron started. "Already? It's only been a few hours!"  


"Well, I saw yer brothers nosin' around the edge of the Forest--again." Hagrid shook his head. He took a seat at the table across from Ron. "They told me. They were proud though. Not upset like you."  


Ron looked down at his tea. "You don't understand," he almost whispered.  


"Don' understand!" Hagrid exclaimed, and suddenly let out a loud hoot of laughter. "Yeh think I don' understand, Ron?" He looked across the table at Ron, his great brown eyes smiling gently down at him. "Ron, don' yeh think that I wanted to be the best at something too? Don' get me wrong, I love bein' groundskeeper here, an' I love bein' a teacher. But I'm not very good at it, I know."  


"Hagrid!" Hermione chided him. "That's not true!"  


"No, Hermione, it's all right. I can face facts. The point is," he focused on Ron again, "that's okay. I'm not the best teacher in the world, but I'm gettin' better. An' even if I'm never a great teacher, tha's not the most important thing in life anyway."  


Ron looked confused. "Hagrid, what are you getting at?"  


Hagrid smiled again. "Ron, look around. Yer friends. What matters the most to us in life isn't the things we have or the things we do, it's the friends we make along the way."  


They sat in silence for a few moments. Ron appeared to consider this. And although he spoke less than usual for the remainder of that afternoon, Harry noticed that his mood had lightened a little. The four of them sat in Hagrid's hut for a few hours and talked about the coming Quidditch season, classes, and Streelers. When they finally stepped out of Hagrid's hut and onto his front porch, the sun was just starting to touch the tops of the trees in the forest behind them. In the distance they could see Professor Green leading a group of hapless first-years down to the lakeside.  
  


***

At a quarter to six on Monday morning, Harry was awakened by Ron tugging roughly at his shoulder.  


"Harry! Come on! We've got to meet Green on the lawn in fifteen minutes."  


"Unnnnnffff," was all Harry managed to reply. From what seemed like very far away, he heard Seamus snicker.  


"Just leave him here, Ron. I want to see what happens if she has to come for him."  


"A'right! I'm up!" He sat up and put on his glasses. The room was pitch black. He dressed quickly and followed the other fifth-years down into the common room. There they met Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati, who looked quite as sleepy as Harry felt.  


"Come on," Hermione mumbled, leading the way out of the portrait hole and down through the castle, onto the grounds.  


Professor Green wasn't on the lawn this time. They found her down on the lakeside in the dark, with Sirius the dog again, waiting for them. At six o'clock, just as the first light of dawn appeared on the horizon, she counted the assembled fifth-years and gave them all an approving smile. "Well, you made it," she announced. "The hardest part is over. Now, you know the drill. Same run as last time. Only this time, let's try to pick up the pace a little, shall we?" She pulled the stopwatch out of her pocket, and began to put the whistle to her mouth.   


Just then, a figure separated from the crowd of students and walked up to her. Squinting through the receding darkness, Harry could see that the figure had white-blond hair and was wearing normal day robes, not the gray workout robes the rest of the fifth-years wore.  


"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"  


"Professor," he began in a silky tone. "I can't run today. I think I strained my ankle on Friday, and it just hasn't gotten any better." Harry could hear the smug smile creeping onto Malfoy's pointy little face. "I have a note from Madam Pomfrey." He handed her a slip of parchment.  


Professor Green took the note, but kept her eyes on Malfoy's face. She pocketed the watch and whistle again. "So you do," she said, without looking down. "Malfoy, you say you're hurt?"  


"That's right." Harry could see that Malfoy had shifted his weight over to his right foot, as though his left were hurting him. Professor Green continued to stare at him. He began to fidget uncomfortably.  


Finally, Professor Green spoke very slowly. "You're lying. Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. Now fall in with the rest of the students."  


Malfoy's jaw dropped. "I ... I ... I'm hurt! I can't run! My ankle!"  


"That'll be ten points from Slytherin."  


Malfoy's voice lowered in indignation. "Professor, I cannot run today. I'm _injured_--"   


"Really, Mr. Malfoy, your continued lies leave me no other choice but to assign detention. Now, fall in."  


"But I--" Malfoy paused, obviously choosing his words carefully now. "I have a note!"  


"What, this note?" Professor Green asked, looking down at the note in her hand as though she had just noticed it. She stepped toward him. While Malfoy watched in horror, she held the note up in front of his face and proceeded to shred it into tiny fragments. As she tore it, the wind blew tiny bits of parchment into Malfoy's face and hair. He didn't move. Harry couldn't see the color of his face, but he was sure that Malfoy must be scarlet with rage.  


"But I'm not dressed for running!"  


Professor Green backed up and drew the watch and whistle out of her pocket again. "Should've thought about that before you decided to come down here and lie to get out of it, now, shouldn't you? Consider it a valuable lesson."  


She looked down at the watch, put the whistle to her lips, and blew it. This time all the fifth-years began running at once, even the Slytherins. Malfoy grudgingly set off at a very light jog. "Professor Snape will hear about this," he mumbled.  


"Yes, he will," Harry heard Professor Green say to herself as he passed her. "But not from you."  


That morning's run was almost as difficult as the previous Friday's, but Harry noted that most of the students' times had improved. Again Harry was one of the first students to finish, and Neville was the very last. As they all circled the lawn to cool down, Professor Green walked over to Harry.  


"Harry," she said as she began to walk beside him, "I'd like to speak to you for a moment in my office, if you don't mind."  


"Alright."  


Hermione and Ron looked quizzically after him as he followed Professor Green and Sirius up the steps to the Great Hall. He looked back at them and shrugged.  


They climbed the flight of stairs in the entrance hall and walked to her office.   


"Please sit down," she said, motioning toward a chair in front of her desk. She sat behind the desk. Sirius sat on the floor next to Harry's chair.  


"Harry, I wanted to speak to you briefly about your performance out there. I'm going to be honest: I'm very disappointed."  


Harry's eyes opened wide in shock. "What? I don't understand. I was one of the first to finish!"  


She looked at him intently, and Harry felt--as he had so many times with Professor Dumbledore--that she was looking right through him. "Come on, Harry. It's me. I know what you're capable of. You're holding out--you can do better."  


Harry thought for a moment. He supposed he hadn't been trying his hardest. He was fast, so he had assumed that he didn't have to work as hard as the other students.  


"I don't care how hard you work relative to the other students," she said uncannily, "I'm only interested in how close you come to reaching _your_ full potential. Take Neville. He's the only one I don't pick on. Why? Because he works harder than anyone else."  


Harry began to understand. He nodded. "Alright," he sighed. "I'll try harder."  


"Good," she smiled. "Now, I think someone wants to have a word with you," she said, glancing down at Sirius, then back up at Harry. "I'm going down to breakfast."   


Professor Green got up and walked to the door. "Don't stay too long; you've got to get ready for your other classes." She opened the door stepped out, and shut it behind her. Suddenly, the door swung open again, and Professor Green's head poked back into the room. "Oh yes. And don't touch anything!" 


	12. Points from Slytherin

Harry and Sirius talked for nearly an hour. Harry, who was very happy to finally be able to speak to his godfather alone, told him all about his summer with the Dursleys, Percy's wedding, and classes. As he spoke, he noticed that Sirius looked very well--much better than he had last year. He wasn't as gaunt, and he seemed happier. But then, Harry thought, this year Sirius wasn't living in a cave and eating rats.   


Sirius, in turn, told Harry that Dumbledore was working with Mrs. Figg and Professor Lupin to try to find out where Voldemort was and what he was doing.   


"Dumbledore's got me taking messages to Remus for him. Owl post is usually reliable, but ... there are some communications he'd rather not send by owl. So I deliver them personally."  


"Have you found out anything?" Harry asked.  


Sirius shook his head. "Not a word. And Remus has contacts--being a werewolf does make it easy to infiltrate certain circles. But he's found out nothing."  


Sirius stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of Professor Green's desk. "You know, this might be even worse than knowing something terrible is going to happen--this not knowing what to expect."  


Harry agreed. The silence was unnerving.  


Finally, Harry left Sirius, went down to the Great Hall for a quick breakfast, and then back up to Gryffindor Tower to change for Divination class.   


The week passed quickly. Harry filled Ron and Hermione in on his discussion with Sirius, but they were all so busy with classes and, in Harry and Ron's case, Quidditch practice, that they barely had time to discuss Voldemort.  


On Friday, Harry noticed that the Slytherins arrived to Potions class on time. Unfortunately, however, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle slipped into class just before the bell rang and were forced to take the only available seats -right behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 

Snape explained the proper way to brew a Mind-Blocking Potion--"an effective defense against mind reading Dark wizards". (Harry noted that almost all of his classes this year focused on defending oneself against Dark magic.) As soon as Snape finished speaking and began prowling about from desk to desk, Malfoy started to grumble.  


"--didn't even listen!"  


"And you told him about the note and all?" Goyle grunted.  


"Yes, of course I did, you moron! He didn't care! 'Professor Green has been trained to identify deception, Malfoy.'" Malfoy paused and began chopping his ginger root fiercely. "I had to do my detention last night, feeding that stupid Streeler of Hagrid's. Disgusting thing. Stepped in its slime trail and accidentally ruined my new shoes!"  


Ron snickered. Harry and Hermione tried to stifle their laughter, but Malfoy could see them tittering.  


"Of course _you_ think it's funny, Weasley," Malfoy fumed quietly. They didn't look back at him. He paused for a moment, and when he spoke next, his voice had regained its usual infuriating smugness. "You like that idiot witch and her smelly dog, don't you? I bet it's a huge step up for the Weasleys--to be related to a family as well-respected as the Clearwaters." So Malfoy had heard about Percy's wedding, and knew that Penelope was Professor Green's sister. He continued, "but if it were me, I'd be _mortified_. She was married to an Envoy, imagine! I'd rather die than be related to a Mudblood-loving fool like tha--"  


"MALFOY!" a voice roared behind them. Malfoy had been so carried away insulting Ron and Professor Green that he hadn't heard Snape walk up behind him, Crabbe, and Goyle.  


"Sir?"   


Harry noted with satisfaction that Malfoy's voice now had a distinctive tremble to it. He listened intently, though he didn't dare turn around.  


"I will not have you speaking that way about your teachers in this class! Ten points from Slytherin!" hissed Snape, infuriated.  


Everyone in the class immediately stopped what they were doing. Whispers ceased in mid-syllable; knives were suddenly rendered immobile in mid-chop. Everyone, even Harry, Ron, and Hermione, turned and looked at Snape. Never in the duration of their academic careers at Hogwarts had any of them witnessed Snape taking points from his own house.  


Malfoy was speechless, and even paler than usual. "S-sir?" he sputtered feebly.  


"You heard me, Malfoy!" Snape's voice was lowered almost to a whisper, but the classroom was now so quiet that everyone heard him clearly. He leaned closer to Malfoy. "I will not tolerate that kind of disrespect towards faculty members at this school. Not even from you. If I ever hear you speaking that way about a teacher again, I will ensure that you receive detention. Is that clear?"   


Malfoy just nodded, speechless.   


Snape looked up at the classroom full of gaping students. At once, they made concerted efforts to look as busy as possible, so as to avoid Snape's wrath themselves.  


But Snape punished no one else for the remainder of the class period. Granted, the class was unusually well-behaved after his outburst at Malfoy. But, as Ron noted while they made their way up the dungeon stairs, good behavior had never prevented Snape taking points away before.  


"And what was all that about disrespecting teachers?" Ron added. "Doesn't he remember Lupin? When he substituted for him, all Snape talked about was how bad a teacher he was."  


"Maybe it's Malfoy," Harry answered. "You remember at the end of last term, when I mentioned Lucius Malfoy's name as one of the Death Eaters? Snape was surprised. Maybe he doesn't like Malfoy anymore now that he knows his dad's a Death Eater."  


"Hmmm." Hermione didn't look convinced. "Malfoy was saying something about Professor Green, wasn't he?"  


"So?" Ron shrugged.  


"Haven't you ever noticed," she said quietly, looking around, "that Snape acts kind of--differently--around her?"  


Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks. Harry remembered the night of the feast, and how Snape had looked away when Professor Green had looked at him.  


"Well, she's an Auror, isn't she? I reckon he's afraid of her, just like he was of Mad-Eye Moody."  


Hermione shook her head. "Don't you ever notice them talking in the corridors? He doesn't usually _talk_ to anyone, does he?"  


Ron appeared to take her meaning, then become incredibly nauseous. "What--are you saying--you think he--_likes_ her, or something?"  


Hermione just shrugged, smiling. "How should I know? But it is suspicious, isn't it?"  


"Hermione!" Ron cried so loudly that Hermione had to shush him. "Please! I don't want to lose my lunch, after all."  


All three of them laughed.   


They had reached the top of the stairs and were about to cross the entrance hall, when they noticed a crowd gathered in front of the doors to the Great Hall. Because Harry was rather shorter than average, he had a difficult time seeing, but it sounded like--  


"A fight!" Ron exclaimed.  


Hermione frowned, and instantly cut a path to the center of the crowd. The students parted to let her through, and Harry could see a girl, who he recognized from the night of the Sorting as a Slytherin first-year, standing next to two Gryffindor second-years. Three wands lay on the floor, along with books, strands of hair, and pieces torn from the left arm of the first-year girl's dress robes.  


"She started it!" one of the Gryffindor girls shouted at Hermione as she approached. The first-year was bleeding from a cut just below her left eye.  


"I did not!" The first-year scowled, though she was on the verge of tears. "They attacked me!"  


"Don't try to play innocent, you slimy Slytherin," snarled the other Gryffindor girl.   


Harry was taken aback; he had never seen a fight in the corridors at school, not even in his second year, when tensions against Slytherin House ran at an all-time high because nearly the entire school had blamed Slytherin House for the basilisk attacks.  


"Come on, let's go, all of you," Hermione ordered the three girls. They followed her up the stairs and, Harry supposed, to the hospital wing.  


"Probably deserved it," muttered a Ravenclaw third-year on Harry's left.  


Harry and Ron walked past the crowd and up to the Gryffindor common room. 


	13. Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! I'm reading all of your comments, and appreciate them. I've had to edit the last chapter because I made a mistake--the fifth-years don't have dinner on Fridays until after their run._  
  


"What did you make of that?" Harry asked Ron as they sat in the common room. They were preparing to work on their essays for Professor Binns about the Wizards' Council, the body which governed the wizarding world before the Ministry of Magic was formed.  


Ron looked up from his textbook. "Well," he began, and paused to think. "Last year the Daily Prophet reports that someone conjured the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup. Then last term Dumbledore announces to the school that You-Know-Who is back." He shrugged. "People are scared, I guess."  


Harry didn't follow. "But what does that have to do with the fight back there?"  


Ron looked at him. "Harry, think about it. If everyone is worried about You-Know-Who, the Slytherins become unpopular by association. That's how it was before--you know, before..." Ron trailed off, suddenly very interested in retrieving a roll of parchment from his backpack. Harry knew what Ron was thinking. _Before my parents were killed_, he thought.   


Ron added, "At least that's what my dad says."  


Harry considered this. Now that Ron mentioned it, he realized that, in the corridors and classrooms, there were more dirty looks and insults aimed at the Slytherins than usual. Even more than in his second year.  


"Almost makes you feel sorry for them," he mumbled.  


Ron snorted. "Well, Malfoy won't mind. He'll eat it up. Already thinks he's above all the rest of us." He found the parchment and set it out on the table. "Come on, we only have a couple hours before we have to meet Green outside."

***

That evening's run around the lake with Professor Green produced the fifth-years' best times yet. Professor Green nodded approvingly at each student as he or she finished the run. True to his word, Harry ran as hard as he could--even lapping Neville--and finished far ahead of Dean, who came in second. Malfoy had apparently resigned himself to running with the rest of the students, although no amount of yelling by Professor Green could make him take on a more-than-leisurely pace.  


After their usual cool-off walk around the lawn, the fifth-years shuffled up the steps into the castle and filed into the Great Hall for dinner. Just as they had the previous week, they each went to their respective House tables, and Professor Green walked up to the empty staff table. But before she had reached her seat, she turned around, struck by a sudden thought.  


"This is stupid!" she said. "There aren't many of us here--why don't we all have dinner together?" She grabbed a few serving dishes from the staff table, carried them over to the Slytherin table, and sat down.  


Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other. "Do we have to?" Ron grumbled. But each student picked up a place setting and a serving dish full of food and carried them over to the Slytherin table. They all sat down and began to eat.  


Once they were seated together, the students realized that they didn't mind sitting with the other Houses--in fact, they rather preferred it. At the end of the table, Professor Green laughed at a joke Ernie Macmillan was telling. Ron struck up a conversation with Padma Patil--to Hermione's great annoyance, Harry noticed.   


After they had eaten, Professor Green produced an acoustic guitar and, quite unexpectedly, began playing. She taught them a very old wizard folk song, sung in a round, and even managed to convince most of the students to sing along. A few Slytherins, however--including Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle--slipped off to their common room.   


No one kept track of the time, and because they were having so much fun chattering and singing, they remained in the Great Hall until very late. At midnight, Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Snape, and Flitwick suddenly appeared in the door, looking very tired and, in Professor McGonagall's case, irritated. Professor Green didn't notice them at all until Professor McGonagall spoke to her quite sternly.  


"Persephone! Would you mind relinquishing our students for the night? It is very late, after all!"   


Professor Green looked up from her guitar, startled. She grinned sheepishly and nodded. "Oh, I am sorry, Minerva! What time is it, anyway?" She turned to the students around the table. "You had all better be getting back to your dormitories. Really," she looked back up at the Heads of the Houses standing in the doorway to the entrance hall, "I _am_ sorry."  


Professor McGonagall's face softened at this, and she nodded forgivingly. In fact, none of the teachers really seemed angry at Professor Green, and they all smiled--except for Snape, who didn't so much smile as fail to scowl. Everyone got up from the table, and the teachers walked the students off to their respective common rooms and ordered them to bed.

***

The last week of September, Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in the first Quidditch game of the year. The whole school had turned out to watch, of course. Harry noticed that Cho Chang had improved markedly in her position as Ravenclaw Seeker; she appeared to have acquired a new broom, a Nimbus Three Thousand, which gave her a great deal more speed than when she had played against Harry two years before.  


"It's no Firebolt," Ron had commented as he sat next to Harry in the stands, "but still, Harry, looks like she'll give you a bit more competition this year."  


"Uh-huh." Harry hadn't told Ron that he wasn't watching Cho strictly to assess her performance as Seeker, but Ron had snickered at Harry's glazed look anyway.  


Now, in the second week of October, after a month of practice, the Gryffindor Quidditch team was preparing to face Slytherin. Just before the game, the team sat in the locker room and listened as Angelina, who had been elected captain, addressed them.  


"It's going to be a difficult game for us," she began. She paced back and forth before them, much like Oliver Wood had done two years before. "Slytherin has three new players, and they're all strong--Price is as good a Beater as I've ever seen at Hogwarts."  


Fred and George frowned.  


"Still," she said, ignoring them, "we've got the best Seeker in the school!" She smiled at Harry. "Harry, you know what to do."  


Harry wasn't nervous. He had faced Draco Malfoy on the Quidditch field before, and Malfoy had always failed to catch the Golden Snitch. Harry nodded back at Angelina.  


"Alright then! We've worked hard for this. Let's show the Slytherins how Quidditch is played!"  


Energized, the team took the field. As they walked to the center of the Quidditch pitch, they could hear the yells of the entire school assembled in the stands. The Gryffindor team lined up opposite the Slytherins. Angelina had been right; they had three new players, but they were just as big as the Slytherins whom they had replaced. Harry glanced down the line at Ginny; she looked unusually small standing on the field next to Angelina, and across from a particularly burly seventh-year with broken front teeth. Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry maliciously.   


"Captains, shake hands," Madam Hooch called, placing a silver whistle in her mouth. Staring fixedly, Angelina shook hands with Adam Price, the Slytherin team captain.   


Suddenly Madam Hooch blew the whistle, and fifteen broomsticks and four balls flew up into the air. The Golden Snitch disappeared almost immediately. The Slytherin Keepers caught the Quaffle first, and instantly flew toward the Gryffindor goal hoops. They got there almost before Ginny was able to take her position.  


"And Zabini shoots--no! The Quaffle is knocked away by the Gryffindor Keeper." As they zoomed around the field, the players could hear Lee Jordan commenting from the stands.  


Katie caught the Quaffle and headed toward the Slytherin goal. Harry decided to take up a position above Ginny, and keep an eye out for the Snitch. As usual, Malfoy followed him at a distance. Harry knew what to do. Malfoy's Nimbus Two Thousand and One wasn't nearly as fast as Harry's Firebolt. Harry would need only spot the Snitch first; getting to it before Malfoy was going to be easy.  


"Oooh! Very rough collision there ... And Zabini is called for blatching. Penalty shot to Gryffindor."  


Harry looked down. Katie appeared to be composing herself after a particularly hard hit from a Slytherin Chaser. "I'm alright," she told a concerned Angelina. Katie took the penalty shot, and scored.  


"That's ten points to Gryffindor! Slytherin zero." Lee's tone very thinly veiled his excitement.  


"Slytherin in possession. Hunt passes to Norton. Norton takes the shot--oooh! Price nearly takes the Gryffindor Keeper's head off!" Lee announced angrily. The Slytherin Beater had moved into the scoring area and, on the pretense of hitting the Bludger toward Ginny, swung his bat very close to her head.  


"Slytherin scores! No penalty called." Lee paused meaningfully. "That's Gryffindor ten, Slytherin ten."  


Harry looked around. Still no sign of the Snitch. Malfoy circled below him, and above Ginny.  


"Gryffindor in possession, and--no! The Quaffle is taken by Zabini. He closes in on the goal, and--oh my God!" The alarm in Lee's voice was matched by fearful cries from the spectators as a Slytherin Beater hit a Bludger at Ginny's head from close range just as Blaise Zabini attempted to score.   


"Nice Sloth Grip Roll by Weasley, and the Bludger misses her. But Zabini scores. That's Slytherin twenty, Gryffindor ten."  


Alicia took the Quaffle, and a Slytherin Chaser promptly smashed into her head-on.  


"Norton's called for blatching; that stinking rat--alright, sorry, Professor--that's another penalty shot for Gryffindor!"   


Alicia lined up to take the shot, but she was still shaken up from the collision. She missed.  


Finally Harry understood. The Slytherin team knew they couldn't beat Gryffindor fairly--it was clear that Malfoy was no match for Harry when it came to catching the Golden Snitch. Their only chance was to play rough, and score as many times with the Quaffle as possible. They were going to try to get so far ahead in points that, no matter who caught the Snitch, they would win. Harry wondered whether they had gotten this idea from last year's Quidditch World Cup.  


True to Harry's prediction, what followed was the roughest game of Quidditch that Hogwarts had seen in two hundred years. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie took a total of nine penalty shots, seven of which they missed because they were so badly hurt or shaken up from the fouls themselves. Five times Ginny narrowly avoided being hit by a Beater's bat. Harry noticed that Fred and George had, in turn, become quite careless about swinging their bats near the Slytherin Beaters' heads.  


"That's Slytherin ahead, one hundred ninety to thirty." Lee's voice had gone beyond angry and now sounded genuinely worried. Angelina signaled for time out.  


"Okay," she whispered, trying to catch her breath. She had just been smacked by a Slytherin Chaser's broom, and her forehead was bleeding. "New plan. Just stay alive. Harry, if you see the Snitch, catch it. Before someone gets killed."  


Harry could hardly believe his ears. Oliver Wood would have told him just the opposite--in fact, in Harry's third year, he had told him to "get the Snitch or die trying."  


George protested: "Angelina! We can't let them win! Especially not like this." Fred and Katie nodded in agreement. Harry, Ginny, and Alicia remained silent--Angelina's plan made a lot more sense to them.  


"Listen to me, George. You're not the one getting bumped around out there. I know--it's not your fault," she headed him off as he started to interrupt, "but you can only defend us from Bludgers, you can't keep their Chasers off us all the time. And Ginny's getting eaten alive out there. I know this is probably exactly what they want us to do, but this game is just not worth risking our lives."  


Madam Hooch's whistle signaled that play was resuming. The players took their places again.  


"And Spinnet has the Quaffle. She passes to Bell, and--Bell scores!" Harry's heart leapt. Slytherin was exactly a hundred and fifty points ahead now--if he caught the Snitch, they could end in a tie game.  


Malfoy glanced at him and seemed to be thinking the same thing. He shot Harry an angry look, and then glanced down at Ginny. The Slytherin Chasers were closing in with the Quaffle, despite the best efforts of Fred, George, and the Gryffindor Chasers to hinder them. The Slytherin Chasers broke away from Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, and approached Ginny. Malfoy watched all of this, grinned up at Harry, and dove.  


Harry realized what Malfoy was going to do a split second before he had done it. It was illegal for more than one Chaser to enter the scoring area -but the Seeker was allowed anywhere on the field. On the pretense of having seen the Snitch, Malfoy dove headlong toward the spot where Ginny hovered, focused on the approaching Chaser.  


"Ginny! Look out!" Harry screamed as he tore downward after Malfoy. But Malfoy was bearing down on her. She turned upward, saw him for a split second, and dodged out of the way. Instead of hitting her head, Malfoy's broom tore into her shoulder. She clung to her broom and was sent spinning.  


"Norton scores! And ..." Lee stopped. For the first time in as long as anyone could remember, he was speechless.  


Instantly, the crowd grew completely silent. Later, Harry could remember thinking how amazing it was that so many people gathered in such a small space could produce so little sound as that crowd did at that moment.  


Ginny spun to a stop a short distance above the field. Harry flew over to her. She pulled her left hand away from her right shoulder, and Harry saw that it was covered in blood.  


"Are you alright?" he called. She looked up at him, then past him, and gasped. Harry turned around.  


Behind him, Draco Malfoy held up the Golden Snitch in triumph.   


The only ones cheering Slytherin's win were the Slytherins themselves. The rest of the school--Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs alike- were yelling angrily.   


Lee Jordan had found his voice again.  


"The Slytherin Seeker nearly impales the Gryffindor Keeper! Disgusting, slimy, pathetic piece of trash! You low-life ..."   


But Harry and Ginny were distracted from Lee's tirade. They were watching Malfoy, who was so caught up in flaunting his first-ever catch of the Golden Snitch that he didn't see George flying toward him from behind. George dropped his bat onto the field, flew beside Malfoy and punched him -hard--in the face. Stunned, Malfoy dropped the Snitch and flew to the ground, followed by the rest of the Slytherin and Gryffindor team members.  


"George, no!" Ginny cried hoarsely--obviously she was still in pain- but it was too late. A full-fledged fight had broken out on the Quidditch field. First it was Fred and George on Malfoy, then three more Slytherins came to Malfoy's defense. Angelina tried to break it up, but was pushed aside by Norton, who rushed to join the fray.  


The next thing Harry knew, pandemonium had broken out. Spectators were crowding onto the field, attempting to rescue Fred and George by beating the Slytherin team members. Fists flew as angry shouts filled the air. Harry turned to Ginny.  


"We've got to get out of here!"  


"But Fred and George!" she cried. "We can't just leave them!"  


Just then a blinding flash of light pierced the din. Harry could barely make out the gleaming white beard of Albus Dumbledore in the midst of the crowd.  


It took the faculty several minutes--and many more flashes of light, along with a few Stunning spells--to put an end to the havoc. An hour later, both Quidditch teams and several spectators found themselves in the hospital wing, being treated for bruises, cuts, scrapes, and in Ginny's case, a broken collarbone.  



	14. The Surprise Slytherin

The next morning at breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Hermione received an owl from Hagrid inviting them over for tea that afternoon. It was a bright but chilly Sunday. On the ceiling of the Great Hall, the sun poked out from behind puffy clouds pushed along by a brisk wind.  


"Just as well," Ron answered after Harry had finished reading the note. "Don't feel much like practicing Quidditch today."  


Hermione looked at him sympathetically but said nothing.   


Everyone's injuries from the small-scale riot the day before had healed. Madam Pomfrey had fixed Ginny's collarbone within a couple of hours, and without causing any additional pain. But the rancor between Slytherin and the rest of the Houses wasn't so easily fixed, and the previous night's dinner in the Great Hall had been unusually quiet and tense. Hermione and Harry noticed that the slight depression that had beset Ron prior to the match had now been replaced with anger at Malfoy and, by association, all Slytherins.  


At two o'clock that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set out for Hagrid's, relieved to have a break from their fellow students, from Quidditch--from anything reminding them of the events of the previous day.  


"Hullo!" boomed Hagrid as he ushered them inside his hut. He seemed rather cheerful, a welcome change from the mood of the students inside the castle. Fang barked and jumped up on Harry, licking his ears.  


"Down, Fang!" a woman's voice called from the little table. Harry looked over, startled. Sitting there, a cup of tea in her hand, was Professor Green.  


"Perseph'ne's just dropped by to talk--we never did get properly caught up since she got here." Hagrid, tending the kettle, turned to the Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were still standing near the door. "Well, sit down then! Everyone'll have a bit o' tea, I 'spect? There's scones on the table."   


Harry, Ron, and Hermione smiled and greeted Professor Green, then sat around the little table with her. Harry could see that she was covertly offering Fang half a scone under the table. Fang didn't seem interested.  


"You're friends with Hagrid?" Harry asked Professor Green.  


"Oh, yes. He's known me ever since I was very small, and we got to be good friends when I was in school here. It's been a while though, hasn't it Hagrid? When was the last time I saw you before September?"  


"Oh, well," Hagrid's voice lowered, "I think it was the funeral."  


"Oh. Right," Professor Green said, remembering. Her voice lowered, too, and Harry got the impression that she wished she hadn't brought it up.  


"Perseph'ne's just been tellin' me how well yer all doin' in her class." Hagrid brought the kettle over to the table and sat down.  


Professor Green refilled her teacup. "Chamomile, my favorite!" she said happily. She drank from her cup, and then spoke. "Yes, I've told him how hard you're all working. And he's been telling me how you're getting on with that Streeler out back."  


"Oh," Hagrid put in sadly, "but he won't be with us fer long. I gotta give 'im back to Mister Fletcher. He was only on loan. But our next project," he winked at the three students, "that'll be a fun one, I promise!"  


Hagrid reached down to pet Fang while Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged worried glances. Professor Green saw their faces. She chuckled to herself, but didn't speak.  


"Were you both at the match yesterday?" Hermione asked.  


"Oh, yes," responded Professor Green. "I had to Stun--what was it, Hagrid? Four students?"   


Hagrid nodded. "Never seen anything like that," he added. "At least, not since the days o' You-Know-Who."  


"Malfoy," Ron muttered, more to himself than to the others. "And those Slytherins. I really hate them." He looked up at Hagrid and Professor Green earnestly. His eyes were glistened with anger. "I mean it. They're all filthy worms. Never met a Slytherin I liked."  


Professor Green was taken aback. "Oh," she answered tentatively. After a pause she added, "that's too bad. I had rather hoped you liked _me_."  


Ron started. Harry and Hermione stared at Professor Green, mouths open.  


"You? But you weren't! You couldn't be! I--we--we didn't know!" Ron sputtered.  


Professor Green smiled and shook her head. "I thought you knew! I figured your father would have told you." But she could see the surprise in their faces. "Yes, I was. I was a Slytherin in my time here."  


Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at her incredulously. "You were a Slytherin," Hermione said, as though trying to convince herself. "But how--I mean, you don't exactly seem the type, do you?"  


Professor Green laughed out loud at this, as did Hagrid. "I'll take that as a compliment, Hermione." She stopped laughing and nodded pensively. "Well, I suppose I should explain then, shouldn't I?"  


She drank deeply from her teacup and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Then she opened them, and began.  


"My mother's illness came on her very suddenly. One day she was fine, and the next, she could barely walk. My father and my grandfather--" she smiled at them, "Professor Dumbledore to you--they did everything they could. But there are some things that even the most powerful wizard in the world cannot cure. She wasn't sick very long before she died. I was nine years old.  


"My mother and I had been very close, you understand. When she died, I became angry. At her, for leaving me; at my father, for letting her ... at everyone and everything. It didn't make sense, I know, but emotion rarely obeys reason." She stared at the wall over their heads as she spoke. Her eyes took on the faraway look of a person lost in remembering something. "Really, I was devastated. It was as though my world had collapsed around me. To have someone you care for so much taken from you," she looked down into her teacup, then up at them. "It was very painful.  


"Then, I had a revelation. I determined that caring for her had been a mistake. After all, if I hadn't cared about my mother, I wouldn't have been so hurt by her death, would I? And I made a decision. I resolved that, from then on, I would care for nothing and no one but myself.  


"I withdrew from my family, from my friends. I became ambitious- the only thing I cared about was becoming a powerful witch. I thought that would make me happy." She smiled a wry sort of half-smile. "Power and status. They became my focus. My goal.  


"When I was eleven, I came to Hogwarts, of course. I'm not sure what I expected the Sorting Hat to tell me. I reckon I assumed it would put me in Ravenclaw, just as it had done with generations of Clearwaters before me. The Clearwaters have been Ravenclaws as far back as anyone can remember.  


"But of course, the Sorting Hat knew me better than I knew myself, and it put me in Slytherin. I can still remember the hush that came over the Great Hall when it did. Do you remember, Hagrid?" she asked, turning to him. He smiled and nodded.   


She continued. "You see, my family was well-known. And everyone knew I was Professor Dumbledore's granddaughter. This was shortly after the name of Lord Voldemort entered the public consciousness." Hagrid and Ron flinched as she said the name. "Sorry," she told them. "Anyway, it was widely known that he had been a Slytherin, along with most of his followers. There was a lot of talk about the fact that Albus Dumbledore's granddaughter had been Sorted into Slytherin, I can tell you. People weren't sure what to make of it.  


"I was certain that I had disappointed my family. Mind you, my father never told me so, and now, looking back, I'm sure he never thought so. But at the time, I was certain that he was ashamed of me. Well, that's fine, I told myself, I don't care anyway. It just made me all the more determined not to care about anyone else, and especially about what they thought of me.  


"When I was in my third year here, my father remarried. I wasn't happy about it, even though my stepmother was always very kind to me. I didn't want another mother. I just grew angrier, more self-centered, and more ambitious. I focused on my studies, determined to become as powerful as possibley.  


"Wow," whispered Hermione. "But you're not like that now. What happened?"  


Professor Green smiled again. "Two things. First, when I was fifteen, my little sister was born. Penelope." She closed her eyes and laughed quietly to herself. "She was the cutest thing you ever saw! That little face, those tiny hands and feet! And the curly brown hair, just like her mother's." Professor Green shook her head. "Oh, I tried not to care about her. Tried very hard. Told myself that she didn't mean anything to me." She sighed. "But I couldn't help but love her. She was my sister, after all.  


"But that in itself didn't change me. Alright, I thought to myself, one person, I can care about this one person, that's all. No one else matters to me. And I went on like that for a little while.   


"But then I met a very odd Hufflepuff boy named Demetrius Green. And he did something I thought very rude at the time."  


"What?" asked Ron.  


Professor Green looked down at the table and smiled sheepishly. A hint of pink appeared on her cheeks. "He fell in love with me." She began to laugh to herself, a low, quiet laugh, full of warmth. "God only knows why, or what he saw in me. I was a selfish little thing--smart, but not much to look at, that's for sure. But he fell in love with me, just the same." She looked up from the table at them. "Later I would ask him why. Why he liked me, what made him notice me in the first place. But he would never answer--he would just laugh. I remember, it used to drive me batty.  


"Of course, I didn't want a boyfriend. That was the last thing in the world I wanted! And I told him so. Oh, I was so mean to him! I must have told him to take a hike in a million different ways." Her eyes were wide, incredulous. "But he never did listen. He was always there, wherever I was--in the corridors, in the Great Hall, on the lawn, around the lake- followed me around constantly, trying to talk to me. Irritated me to no end!"   


Harry was reminded of Colin Creevey. Professor Green sipped her tea. "Of course, I had no choice. There's no way I could've avoided falling in love with someone like that. And, in the end, I did."  


Harry, Ron, and Hermione were utterly perplexed. Professor Green grinned at them. "But you don't know what I'm talking about, do you? Well, don't worry, you will."  


"Hold on a second," Hermione cut in. "What changed? I mean, how did you go from telling him to leave you alone to ... marrying him?"  


"That's a good question." Professor Green paused thoughtfully. "I guess it was the night of the fight. Yes, I think that was it. This was just after the McKinnons were killed, and Margie McKinnon was a Gryffindor fifth-year then." She sighed, picked up her teacup and swirled it around in little circles. "I was unlucky enough to be found in the company of Oscar Travers and a few other Slytherins, walking back late from a Quidditch match against Ravenclaw that night. See, Oscar was the son of the Death Eater suspected of the McKinnons' murders."   


She turned to Ron. "You may find this difficult to believe, Ron, but it was very tough to be a Slytherin back then. We were the social outcasts. Everyone was afraid of Vol--of the Dark Lord, and they were looking for someone to blame, someone to let their fears and frustrations out on. At Hogwarts, the Slytherins were their targets.  


"That night, after that Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, we were ambushed by a gang of Gryffindors. Mostly they just wanted to beat Oscar, but they didn't hesitate to throw a few kicks and punches at the rest of us, either."  


Ron gasped. "Gryffindors did that?"  


Professor Green shot him the same probing look that she had given Harry in her office after his run. "You'd be surprised what people will do when they're afraid, and they're angry." Ron just stared back at her in disbelief.  


"Anyway, we were outnumbered. I remember a couple of girls hitting me, and then, from out of nowhere, there he was. Demetrius. He got in the way--and caught a few blows, too, before those girls realized they were hitting a Prefect! Harry, your parents were there," she said, nodding at Harry. "They were Head Boy and Girl that year, I remember. I guess someone saw what was happening. They came down from the castle, along with Demetrius, and they broke it up. Took us all up to the hospital wing. I'll never forget it.   


"I couldn't believe anyone would go to any trouble for a gang of Slytherins. Would have expected them to just leave us alone, pretend they hadn't seen anything. But they didn't.  


"That's when I realized two things. One: that Demetrius was serious, he was for real. And two: that power and status were not going to make me happy. Not if I was cut off from everyone. I realized that, even if I became the most powerful witch in the world, if I didn't care enough to use my power to help anyone, it would be meaningless."   


She looked down at her teacup again, and paused. "Demetrius taught me that. He taught me that there was more to life than power. That our lives should be defined by how we value people, not by how we can control them. Does that make any sense?" She peered across the table at them, narrowing her green eyes. Harry thought he was beginning to understand. Ron and Hermione nodded slowly.  


When Professor Green spoke again, it was very quietly. "He saw something in me that I didn't know was there--something of value, completely independent of my talents, or my abilities, or my intelligence. I'll tell you kids the truth: he turned me back from the Dark Side. And ever since, I wanted to do the same for others. People who are like I was, once."  


No one said anything more for a long time. They simply sat around the table, drinking their tea. Through the back window they watched the Streeler in the pumpkin patch, changing from a light salmon color to a deep royal blue. 


	15. The Potion

Moonlight illuminated the field of close-cropped grass. Now and then, a patch of dark would float across the field from right to left, as a thin whisp of a cloud passed overhead. But even with the occasional cloud, the field could be seen as clearly as if it were midday. It wasn't, of course; judging from the position of the moon it was late night. Nearing midnight. In the foreground, the back wall of a small cottage stood to the right and isolated a large rectangle of shadow from the moonlight, but if one squinted, one could make out a very large cauldron sitting in the middle of the rectangle. A door opened and a short, balding man emerged.  


The man looked alarmed at the sight of the cauldron. Immediately he gathered an armful of firewood from a pile near the door and carried it over to the cauldron. He placed it underneath, stretched out his wand, and ignited it. The door opened again and he turned around, alarmed.  


"Wormtail," a cold, high-pitched voice called.  


"Y-yes my Lord," the short man answered in a timid squeak.  


"How is it coming, Wormtail?" The second man merely stood in the doorway. By the light of the newly-ignited fire he could see the firewood, barely scorched, sitting under the cauldron, atop a pile of smoldering ashes.  


"Very well," Wormtail answered, feigning cheerfulness.   


"The fire has gone out."  


"No! It was--it was smoldering, but it's lit now! No harm done." The short man had drawn a wand from beneath his cloak and had begun stirring the cauldron. As he stirred, he furtively glanced sideways at the other, taller man. The second man did not move.  


"Do not let it happen again, Wormtail." The high-pitched voice was steely-cold, and cruel. Its owner was losing his patience. "We cannot take any longer than we have to--if you were to ruin it, we would have to start all over again."   


"But it's not ruined! It's fine!"  


"It must be perfect. One tiny mistake and all would be lost."  


"No! We haven't made any mistakes!"  


"We?" The cold voice quieted to a whisper, and gave way to a cruel laugh. "No. _We_ haven't made any mistakes. _You_, on the other hand--"  


"No! It's fine--come see for yourself!"  


But the taller man didn't move. He regarded Wormtail for a moment. "How much longer?"  


Trembling, the short man drew a small piece of parchment from inside his cloak. "Lumos," he muttered. The tip of his wand lit up, and by its light he began to read to himself.   


"The eggs must stew for two more months. Then we can add the Lobalug venom. But--" Wormtail's voice turned to a timid squeak now "- the unicorn hair--"  


"Do not worry about that now," the tall man interrupted. "We have three months to locate it, and a contact to procure it for us. Very well, Wormtail. Mind you don't let that fire burn out again. I may not be so kindly disposed toward you next time."  


"Yes, my Lord," Wormtail responded in a hoarse whisper. The tall man receded into the shadow the doorway, and the door banged shut behind him.

***

"Geez, Harry, didn't you sleep at all?" Ron asked as he, Harry, and Hermione sat down to breakfast the Tuesday after the Quidditch match against Slytherin. Ron must have noticed the dark circles under Harry's eyes. Harry hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt.  


"Yeah. I mean, I think so. I don't remember."  


"I dunno," Ron said, filling his glass with orange juice. "You woke me up twice with your tossing and turning. And the moaning. You were having some kind of nightmare."  


Hermione looked concerned at this. "Harry, did you--did you have any dreams last night?" She stared at him. He knew she was remembering the dreams he'd had last year, involving Voldemort. He shook his head and reached for the serving dish, the one holding the scrambled eggs.  


Eggs. Suddenly Harry stood up. "I've gotta go," he said quickly and ran out the doors of the Great Hall, through the entrance hall and down the stone steps of the castle. Alarmed, Ron and Hermione left their breakfasts and rushed after him.  


It was blindingly bright outside, but chilly, and the air was beginning to smell like autumn. Harry began to run toward Hagrid's cabin. Not far from it, he could see Professor Green standing between the lake and the Forbidden Forest, pausing to watch three exhausted third-years run by. Sitting next to her on the ground was the person Harry wanted to see.  


He ran over to Professor Green and, panting, explained that he needed to speak to Sirius.  


"Hang on," she answered gravely. "What is it? What's wrong?"  


But he didn't want to tell her. He wanted to tell Sirius. Before he could think of a polite way to say this, she nodded.  


"Alright, but listen, you can't talk to him now. Would look a little odd, wouldn't it, you running out here in a panic and demanding to take my dog for a walk? Come by my office at one o'clock, after lunch, and you can speak to him then."  


Harry suffered through Professor Binns' History of Magic lecture, then lunch, feeling as though one o'clock would never come. He had told Ron and Hermione what he had remembered of his dream, and they had agreed that he should tell someone.  


"I think you should go straight to Dumbledore," Hermione had said. "I don't see why you don't."  


"Well, he can ask Si-Snuffles about it," Ron had answered, glancing around the Gryffindor table to make sure no one was listening, "and if he thinks it's important enough, Harry _will_ go to Dumbledore. But he doesn't know if it's worth bothering Dumbledore about yet, does he? I mean, he doesn't even know that it wasn't just a regular nightmare."  


At one o'clock, just as Harry was about to knock on the door to Professor Green's office, it opened, and she appeared before him. "Come in," she said. Harry stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him. Instantly the large black dog on the rug in front of the fireplace metamorphosed into the person Harry wanted so desperately to speak with.   


"I'm leaving now," Professor Green told them, walking to the door. She remembered something. "Oh, yes--"  


"We know. Don't touch anything." Sirius smiled at her.  


She smiled in return, nodded, and left.  


Sirius watched her leave, then turned to Harry, still smiling. "So," he said, "what's this you wanted to speak with me about?"  


Harry told him everything he could remember about the dream: Wormtail, Voldemort, the cottage, the field, the cauldron, the potion. When he described the ingredients he had heard them speak about--some sort of eggs, Lobalug venom, and unicorn hair--he was surprised to see Sirius merely nod, as though he already knew.  


"Harry," Sirius said as he began pacing back and forth before the fire. This was a habit of Sirius', Harry was beginning to realize, and he felt oddly comforted by it. "Do you remember at the end of last term, in the hospital wing? I was told that Dumbledore gave--Snape--" he said the name as though he found it difficult to pronounce "--a task."  


"Yeah," Harry answered, remembering. "But he didn't say what it was."  


"Right. I will tell you now, if you promise to keep it a strict secret. Dumbledore wanted to keep it quiet as possible but, considering what you already know, I don't think it will make much difference if I tell you.  


"That night, Snape prepared a Mind-Blocking Potion and went out to see an old acquaintance of his--Lucius Malfoy. His task was to find out everything he could about the Dark Lord's whereabouts.  


"He didn't find out anything, although he was convinced that Malfoy knew more than he was letting on. But he kept in contact with him. Eventually, Snape started getting requests. For potion ingredients.  


"Dumbledore directed Snape to pass the ingredients on to Malfoy, under the pretense that Snape was trying to help the Dark Lord return to power. All the while, Snape, Dumbledore, and a close circle of our allies have been keeping track of which items Voldemort has requested, in order to try to figure out what he's planning.  


"So far, we can't see how he can use these these items to create anything dangerous, or even all that beneficial to himself. Some of them are hard to find, but none of them is very powerful. The eggs you heard about were probably the Doxy eggs that Snape gave Malfoy at the beginning of the summer. We didn't know about the unicorn hair--that was a good tip--but even with that piece of information, I doubt that Dumbledore will be any closer to knowing what Voldemort's brewing.   


"Maybe it's just a regular Wit-Sharpening potion, or some sort of a healing potion. We can't be sure. But as long as Voldemort keeps asking Snape for things, Snape's going to give them to him. We think Voldemort may be testing Snape's loyalty. Snape's hoping to eventually regain Voldemort's trust, and work his way back into his inner circle."   


Harry was fascinated. "So he's trying to spy for Dumbledore--again? But isn't it dangerous?"  


Sirius nodded. "It is. Incredibly dangerous. He's taken every protective measure he can, but still--" The disdain toward Snape that had marked in Sirius' tone seemed to recede a bit. "I didn't think he'd survive this long, to be quite honest with you. But Voldemort hasn't even tried to hurt him yet. Hasn't even spoken with him face-to-face. It's as though he's trying to be very careful. As though he's biding his time, waiting for something." 


	16. Insult to Injury

_Author's Note: Thanks again to all my reviewers! A couple of you have pointed out that Penelope Clearwater couldn't be a full-blood, as she was attacked by the basilisk in Book 2. You're right, of course. In my story her mother is a Muggle, though I edited out the part where Persephone mentions that. (I'll have to add something in about it.) This makes Penelope a half-blood, and a more plausible target for the basilisk._

Later in the common room, Harry looked around to make sure he couldn't be overheard, then told Ron and Hermione about his talk with Sirius. They listened intently, but when he had finished describing the conversation, they didn't seem to know what to say in response. It was then that all three of them realized that, even though Cedric's death served as a reminder of the reality of what had happened last term, they had begun to think of Voldemort as a memory rather than a real threat. Now Sirius had confirmed that the events Harry was dreaming about were in fact real. Voldemort was real. He was planning something, and no one knew what it was. This unsettled them.  


After an uncomfortable pause, Hermione changed the subject. "Don't forget about tomorrow afternoon. The gray robes and all."  


Harry had nearly forgotten. In their last Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Green had announced that they had gleaned all they could from books, and were ready to begin practical lessons.  


So after lunch the next day, the Gryffindor fifth-years changed into their gray robes and met Professor Green on the lawn in front of the castle. She was waiting for them, though Harry noticed that Sirius was absent. The day was overcast, and the wind blew the clouds along overhead at a brisk pace.   


"We'll head down to the Quidditch pitch, I think," she said once the class had gathered. They followed her across the grounds to the middle of the field, where she arranged them into two rows, and turned to face them.   


"Now, you've got a good grounding in the principles of self-defense," she began, "but putting them into practice is another thing entirely. Who can tell me," she said, looking around at them all, "the first rule for defending yourself--the first thing I taught you in our first class? Miss Brown!"  


Lavender Brown, who had been whispering to Parvati Patil, suddenly looked up at Professor Green, startled.   


"I need you to focus, Miss Brown." Lavender nodded apologetically. "Well then? Who can tell me?"  


Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember what he'd written down in the previous class periods. It all seemed so remote now that he was standing out here, with the wind in his face and the withering autumn grass under his feet. In front of him, Hermione's hand went up--but, to her right, so did Neville's.  


"Neville?" Professor Green asked. "What's the first rule for protecting yourself against an attack by a Dark wizard?"  


Neville smiled sheepishly. "R-run away," he said hoarsely. The other students laughed.  


"That's right! Thank you, Neville. Five points to Gryffindor." Professor Green nodded toward him, and Neville went pink. "You want to get away if you can. Only fight back if you're cornered. Some of us know this by intuition--" she shot Harry the quickest of glances "--and some of us lose our wits under pressure, and forget that the first rule of fighting is to avoid the fight altogether. I'm afraid that's not something I can give you practical lessons on, however. So don't forget it."  


They spent the rest of the class period learning blocks, punches, and kicks. These were much less exciting than Ron and Harry had hoped, since they were done very slowly, so that Professor Green could make sure everyone had the proper form.  


"Don't worry," she said to Ron as she corrected his right hook, "you'll be sparring in a few weeks. And then you'll wish you were back here, throwing punches into the air and not being hit in return." But as soon as her back was turned Ron gave Harry an excited grin that said he couldn't wait to flip Harry flat onto his back.  


But October turned into November, and still they hadn't begun sparring.   


"What's she waiting for?" Ron said one Saturday morning at breakfast.   


"Maybe she's waiting for Neville to catch up to everyone else," Harry answered. Poor Neville had never failed to injure himself in a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, even though his only opponent was himself.  


Ron groaned. "If that's the case, we'll never get to fight."  


"Well, we've got to get the proper form first, haven't we?" Hermione chimed in, not taking her eyes off her _Daily Prophet_. "Professor Green said it's got to be second nature. You wouldn't have time to think about it in a real fight."  


"I suppose so." Ron thought for a second. "Hermione, what are you going to buy in Hogsmeade today?" He winked at Harry mischievously.  


"Well, I need to buy some ink and parchment, and then I thought I'd--Oh no, you don't!" She put the paper down and scowled across the table at Ron. "If you want to find out what I'm getting you for Christmas, you'll have to do better than that!"  


That day was the first Hogsmeade Saturday of the year. Professor McGonagall had made the announcement to the Gryffindor table a week before, and the resignation in her tone had conveyed in no uncertain terms how unwise she thought it was to allow the students to roam freely about the village.  


Ron had received an owl from his mother shorter thereafter, warning him to be careful. Thankfully, she hadn't forbidden him, Fred, or George from going to Hogsmeade, but she had made it clear that they were to remain on guard at all times.  


"What in the world is wrong with everyone? Has _everyone_ turned into Mad-Eye Moody now? 'Constant vigilance!'" Ron had exclaimed after reading the letter. "It's only Hogsmeade! What, do they think You Know-Who's going to come swooping down out of nowhere in broad daylight and begin randomly attacking fifth-years?"  


"Honestly, Ron!" Hermione had chided him. "She's your mother! She's only worried about you."  


"Well, I'm not going to let anything ruin this weekend. I'm not going to worry about _him_ or anything else."  


The three of them walked into the village together later that morning, though they would have to split up as soon as they arrived, in order to do their Christmas shopping. It was cold and gray, threatening to snow, and they each wrapped their cloaks tightly about them as they made their way down the lane. Once they entered the village, they agreed to meet up in the Three Broomsticks in two hours, and they each went their separate ways.   


Harry headed straight for the bookshop and bought Ron the latest installment of his favorite comic book, _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_. Then he found a jewelry store, where he bought Hermione an inexpensive but very pretty silver brooch that was charmed to never need polishing. Finally he made his way back down the lane to the Three Broomsticks, where he met Ron and Hermione, who were weighed down with parcels of their own. They found a table and stowed their packages under it quickly, each trying to to keep his things out of view of the others. It was a very pleasant afternoon, sitting around that table by the fireplace, sipping butterbeers, and watching the first snowflakes of the season falling outside the window. They chatted about Quidditch, classes, and O.W.L.s, which Harry had tried to avoid thinking about.   


Afterwards, they went together to Honeyduke's, where they stocked up on Chocolate Frogs and Every-Flavor Beans, and found Fred and George trying to sell the owner Dragon Breath Drops and Canary Cremes. The lanky, wizened old wizard looked suspicious, but curious as well, and in the end he bought a dozen of each.  


That evening Harry, Ron, Hermione, and an ecstatic pair of Weasley twins headed back to the castle.   


"The witch at Zonko's joke shop bought two dozen of each!" George exclaimed.  


"We'll have to make more," Fred mused. "I wonder how they'll sell?"  


"That's really great," Hermione said. They beamed back at her.  


"I won't tell Mum you're encouraging them," Ron whispered.  


***  


Before they knew it, November had become December. Transfiguration had grown much more difficult that term. Harry hadn't realized how difficult human transfiguration was, even if you weren't attempting to become an Animagus. It was going to take them two years to learn to Apparate--and that was just transfiguring oneself from one place to another, without changing form. Only after they had mastered Apparition in their seventh year would they begin to learn how to transsubstantiate themselves into animals.   


Surprisingly, Charms had become one of Harry's least favorite classes this term. His Disillusionment Charm was very unpromising indeed, and as a result he spent most of each class period being given reproachful looks by Hermione, who was already able to make herself appear to take on the form of a tree stump.   


But Potions class was by far the worst. Snape seemed to have rediscovered his old hatred for the Gryffindors in general, and Harry in particular. To make matters worse, he seemed bent on making up for having taken points from Slytherin by never missing an opportunity to publicly humiliate Neville. Neville, for his part, didn't seem to get used to this; after Snape's inevitable rant he would always turn beet-red and avoid the other students' stares for the rest of the class period.  


"Told you he was as evil as ever," Ron muttered as they left class one Friday in mid-December. Snape had just told Neville off for leaving his Strength Potion on the fire too long, causing it to suddenly evaporate into a cloud of orange steam. "Wonder why he picks on Neville?"  


Harry shrugged. "Guess he's an easy target, isn't he? Snape's just a bully. You know, we ought to teach Nevile to stand up for himself."  


"Harry! That's a great idea," Hermione said excitedly.   


But Neville proved quite resistant to the idea. He was deathly afraid of Snape, and feared that standing up for himself would only make things worse.  


"It's alright, I don't mind," Neville lied when Harry and Ron approached him in their dormitory that afternoon. "I'll just let him yell. It's easier that way."  


"He won't learn though!" Ron said. He sat down on Neville's bed. "It'll just get worse. Trust me, I have five older brothers, I learned the hard way--if you don't stick up for yourself, Neville, he's just going to keep picking on you."  


Neville shook his head. "I ... appreciate what you're trying to do." He clutched his pillow and looked up at them. "But honestly, I couldn't."  


He then picked up the copy of _Magical Flowering Shrubs of Britain_ that had been sitting on his bedside table, opened it, and began to read. The conversation was over. Ron looked at Harry resignedly. Harry just shrugged back at him. They left Neville, and began to change for their evening run.   


Within an hour they were trudging down to the lakeside to meet Professor Green. It was definitely wintertime now; they had to light their wands to find their way down the snowy path to the lake.   


If the students had thought that darkness and snow would have pardoned them from their twice-weekly runs, they were bitterly disappointed. Professor Green wasn't put off by weather or darkness at all; so far they had run in rain, mud, heat, and bitter cold, and Harry was sure they would run in snow or hail too, if the weather ever happened to take a nasty turn on a Monday morning or Friday night.   


So this morning they harbored no illusions about the possibility of getting out of their run. Everyone, even Malfoy, resignedly made their way to the lakeside. But when they got there, it wasn't Professor Green who greeted them.  


It was Snape.  


"No way!" Ron whispered to Harry as Snape surveyed the fifth-years. He wore a look of happy anticipation, as if he were about to open a birthday present.  


"Professor Green," he addressed the stunned crowd, "has most unfortunately come down with a case of the flu." Unlike the previous instance in which Snape had informed Harry's class of a teacher's illness -Professor Lupin's--no note of malicious glee could be discerned from his tone. But Harry could hear the smile in his voice when he continued. "She was coming down here to meet you, to cancel your run. Fortunately, I happened across her in the corridor and agreed to take her place while she is in the hospital wing."  


Whispers broke out all through the crowd.  


"Silence!" Snape yelled. Harry could see him reach into a pocket and draw out a silver whistle, which gleamed in the near-darkness, and a stopwatch. Professor Green must have given them to him. Without a word, he blew the whistle. The students set off hastily.  


Of course, Snape didn't run with them. He did follow them at a walk, however, and stand between them and the Forbidden Forest as they ran. When Harry, leading the crowd by a great distance, rounded the edge of the lake that borded on the forest for a second time, he saw Snape watching the runners and smirking sadistically.   


As Harry approached the spot from which they had begun, Snape stood there, stopwatch in hand.  


"Not bad, Potter," he said as Harry passed him and stopped to catch his breath. "But you're a bit of a show-off, aren't you? Five points from Gryffindor."  


Harry didn't even bother to look up or respond, even though this was clearly unjust. He simply set off toward the lawn at a walk.  


The darkness had deepened since they had begun their run, and Harry could see the glowing wandtips of the rest of the fifth-years as they neared the end of their course. He could also hear Snape taking points off for trivial things--an untied shoelace, a dropped wand. Harry continued to circle the lawn as more and more fifth-years joined him.   


Finally only one wandtip could be seen circling the lake. It was far behind Lavender Brown, the second-to-last finisher ("Five points from Gryffindor for a slow finish!"). It could only be Neville.  


As Neville finished, Harry watched, along with Ron and Hermione, who had begun to walk with him. But just before Neville reached the end of the course, his wandtip fell and was extinguished.  


"Get up! Longbotton, you pathetic, worthless excuse for a wizard," Snape's voice boomed. At this Harry snapped. He had had enough. He looked at Ron and Hermione, then set off toward the lakeside at a run.   


"Harry, don't!" Hermione's nearly breathless voice called. But she and Ron were far too tired after their five-mile run to go zooming back down to the lake to help Neville. Harry ignored her.  


He skidded to a halt right in front of the spot where Neville sat on the shore, holding his knee. Snape was standing over him. Behind Neville Harry could see, as he extended his own lit wand, a patch of ice with a long skid mark where Neville had slipped.  


Harry bent down. "You alright, Neville?" he asked.  


"Potter! Leave him! He is not your concern. I will tend to him," Snape hissed.  


Harry could feel the rage boiling up inside him. He wasn't going to leave Neville to face Snape on his own. "He _is_ my concern!" Harry yelled. "He's my friend! I'm going to help him up to the hospital wing."  


"You will do no such thing." Snape bent down so that his face was very close to Harry's, and spoke in a deadly whisper. "How dare you speak to me in that tone! You will both follow me." With that, Snape turned and began to walk up toward the castle.  


"Neville, can you walk?" Harry asked.  


Neville was still so out of breath he could barely speak. "Yeah," he replied. He stood up tentatively, and began to limp after Snape.   


Harry and Neville followed Snape across the lawn, up the stone steps and through the entrance hall. They could see the other fifth-years already sitting around the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, eating dinner. The corridors were deserted.   


Once they had climbed up the main staircase and entered the second floor corridor to the hospital wing, Snape stopped walking and rounded on Harry and Neville.  


"Pathetic," he repeated as he eyed Neville spitefully. "I pity Professor Green her task of teaching ... _you_--" he said this with the utmost loathing "--how to defend yourself against Dark magic. You!" He began to laugh bitterly. Neville just bowed his head, ashamed. Harry was livid.  


"Just like your father," Snape said. At this, Neville looked up, stunned.   


"Wha - what?"  


"He wasn't able to defend himself either, even though he was an Auror. The Death Eaters attacked him and your mother, and your parents were powerless to defend themselves. And you're turning out just like them," Snape spat disgustedly.   


Harry was beside himself--of course, he knew about Neville's parents, but Snape didn't know that. It was a terrible violation of Neville's privacy for Snape to say something like this in front of Harry. Not to mention the cruelty of taunting Neville for the attack on his parents. Harry had never had a very high opinion of Snape, but right then he was amazed that even Snape would sink this low.  


Harry opened his mouth to speak, even though he had no idea what he was going to say. But before he had a chance to make a sound, he saw Professor Green emerge from an adjoining hallway behind Snape.   


She had steam coming out of her ears--an unfortunate side effect of Madame Pomfrey's cure for the flu--and her eyes were wide with shock. As Harry watched, her expression changed from horrified disbelief to a furious indignance that rivaled what Harry felt. He was sure she had heard everything.  


But Snape remained oblivious. He continued to glare at Neville, who had tears welling up in his eyes. Professor Green crept up behind Snape soundlessly.  


"Like fathers, like sons," Snape said, and looked from Neville to Harry. "Both of you had fathers who were arrogant, incompetent fools who failed to protect themselves fr--" Just then, a bit of steam from Professor Green's ears wafted past Snape's head. Very slowly, he turned around to find her staring at him, trembling with murderous rage.  


Moving almost too quickly to be seen, Professor Green reached back and slapped Snape across the face so hard that he had to catch himself to avoid falling over. 


	17. The Summoning

Ch17

(Author's Note:Thanks again to all who have reviewed!Hermione Chang:you can review as many times as you like.:)To everyone: I need a little help with the Latin in this chapter, so if you Latin scholars have any suggestions for the Memory Reliving Charm or the Summoning Incantation, I'm eager to hear them.Again, these characters all belong to J.K. Rowling, except Persephone and Demetrius Green.)

***

"HOW ... COULD ... YOU?!"

Harry had never seen Snape speechless before.Yet as he and Neville watched, Snape stared at Professor Green, mute with horror, a vivid red welt now visible across the left side of his sallow face.After a few seconds, he tried to speak.

"You don't understand—"

"I understand completely."Professor Green spoke in a deadly whisper."How could you say those things—those horrible things!—to these boys?"

Snape just stared at her in silence.

"Harry's parents were killed by the most powerful Dark wizard in the world, through no fault of their own!And Neville!He should be so lucky to grow up to be like his father.I'll have you know that Frank Longbottom was as good an Auror as I ever met in all my time at the Ministry.

"Yet here you stand, insulting these ... CHILDREN—"

Harry bristled at being called a child, but he wouldn't dare correct Professor Green just now.

"—who've lost their parents to Dark wizards.My God!"She began to laugh bitterly."Surely you see the irony here.Tell me, where were you, _Professor_, during those long years when Longbottom worked to keep the Dark Lord and his followers from taking over?"She began to laugh even louder.

"Where were you?Oh," she said with feigned sympathy, "but you don't feel much like talking _now_, do you?Interesting."The rest of Snape's face had reddened to hide the welt that Professor Green had given him, and his expression of shock had given way to one of combined fear and anger.Still, he kept silent.

Suddenly Professor Green's manner changed entirely.She addressed Snape gravely, with no hint of sarcasm."The thing I can't figure is, how you can stand it.I mean, you're capable of so much _more_ than this.I know you."She paused, glancing down at Harry and Neville.

"Yet you've allowed yourself to become this small, wretched person who derives pleasure from making children cry.I don't understand—I don't know how you can stand it—"

This was too much for Snape, who looked as though steam might pour out of _his_ ears at any moment.He interrupted her, in a very low, even tone."At least I'm not in love with a ghost."

Professor Green actually took a step backward, as though Snape had tried to strike her.For a split second, she looked shocked and hurt, but then—so quickly that Harry had to question whether her first reaction had even been real—she composed herself.She narrowed her eyes and grinned.

"Are you quite sure about that?"

Now it was Snape's turn to look taken aback.His eyes moved involuntarily down to Harry, then back to up Professor Green.She laughed.Snape, however, was not amused.

"What is that supposed to m—"

"You know quite well what it means," she interrupted calmly."Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to speak to my students in my office.I think it's time that Neville met his parents."Harry tried to shoot Neville a questioning look, but Neville was staring at Professor Green open-mouthed.

She walked over to them and placed one hand on each boy's shoulder.Suddenly, she stopped and turned back to Snape.

"Why don't you come along?It would give you a chance to properly understand what you've been taunting him about.Unless you'd rather not know what an ignorant clod you've been."

Snape's fists were clenched at his sides.Now he was the one trembling with rage."I should think not.I have better things to do than hear about Longbottom's family history." 

Professor Green glared at him for a few seconds.Finally, she whispered something Harry could barely make out, just one word.

"_Coward_."

She turned back toward Harry and Neville and ushered them down the corridor toward her office.

As they walked inside her office, Harry noticed that Sirius wasn't there.Professor Green shut the door and turned to Neville and Harry."Now, I'm sure that you two missed dinner.I'll conjure us up some sandwiches, and then, Harry, I'll send you up to Gryffindor Tower.I'll take Neville up to the hospital wing myself, after I've showed him—"

But Harry wasn't hungry.He was curious to know what she was going to show Neville, but it looked as though she wasn't going to let him stay.

Neville shook his head and interrupted her."Harry's my friend.I want him to stay."

For some reason, Harry felt a thrill of pride that Neville would want to include him in this.He smiled at Neville.

"And we're not hungry," Neville added, smiling back."And my knee feels fine now, so I don't need to go up to the hospital wing after all.

What is it that you wanted to show me?"

Professor Green smiled at them."Neville, I have memories of your parents from before ... Before the attack ..."

Neville nodded gravely.

"I was thinking I might give you a look at your parents, as I remember them.But I'll let you decide—is that something you would like to see?"

Neville didn't have to think about this."Yes," he answered instantly."My parents.Yes.More than anything."He seemed to have trouble accepting that such a thing was possible, but he appeared very eager. "And you're sure you want Harry to stay?"

Neville nodded again."He can stay if he wants to."

"Alright, let's get to it.It's a difficult charm, not many people can do it, but I think I can manage it—"

Just then someone knocked briskly at the door."Ah, yes," she said, "I nearly forgot."She crossed to the door, and as she opened it—before she could even see who was outside—she said, "Come in, Professor Snape."

If Snape was surprised that she was expecting him, he didn't show it.He stepped inside and began to speak resentfully, in the same tone that he used with Dumbledore when the headmaster disagreed with him."Against my better judgment I have come, lest you conclude that I am afraid of—"

"Right then.Do come in and shut up."She closed the door behind him and crossed back to Harry and Neville.

"Now, you three," she said, gesturing at the wall to Harry's right, "stand against that wall.Yes, I think that will be the best way."They did as she directed.Snape moved reluctantly, and kept his arms crossed, but eventually he took his place against the wall, next to Harry."Good, good," Professor Green said as she took out her wand.

"Are we ready?"

Neville nodded excitedly, Harry nodded a bit apprehensively, and Snape just grunted.

Professor Green placed the tip of her wand against her right temple and closed her eyes."_Memoriam referendum_," she murmured.

Suddenly the room disappeared; it was pitch dark.A landscape began to appear all around them, emerging from the darkness as from a receding fog.Soon they were standing in a dense wood, on the edge of a clearing.A bright, nearly full moon shone brightly in the night sky.A chorus of crickets was chirping and, somewhere, an owl hooted.

Harry understood:they were standing inside Professor Green's memory.He had been taken into other people's memories before, but he hadn't realized that a charm existed that allowed a person to show her memories to others at will.

"Here we come," Professor Green whispered to them.She stood on Neville's other side; Harry assumed she had taken a spot against the wall, too, although he could no longer see it. 

She was right, someone was coming.They could hear the footsteps of someone running through the forest and, a second later, a man crashed 

through a shrub to their left, at the edge of the clearing.

The man was short, with shoulder-length brownish-blond hair and a bald spot on the top of his head.He wore a tattered robe, and he appeared to 

be in his late thirties, though it was difficult to tell on account of the dirt, leaves, and scratches covering his face.The man stumbled into the middle of the clearing, clutching his chest and breathing heavily. 

A second figure then crashed through the edge of the clearing, breaking through the same shrub from which the man had just emerged.The man looked behind him, turned, and made a break for the woods on the clearing's other side.

"_Stupefy_!" the second figure called, pointing her wand—for it was a she—at the man.He fell to the ground facedown, just at the edge of the woods.

The woman looked around the clearing and walked over to the Stunned man.Harry saw that she wore a long black cloak and black shoes that reminded him of Muggle hiking boots.She knelt, lit her wand, and surveyed the man.Then she looked up again, as though she were listening for something.In the moonlight Harry recognized the woman's features—it was Professor Green.

But she looked different.Younger.Her face wasn't as lined, and she had no scar running down the left side of her neck.

"Fisher!" she called."Over here!"

Harry heard a popping noise and another figure suddenly appeared in the center of the clearing.He was a tall, blond man, a few years older than this younger Persephone Green, and dressed just like her.He walked over to her.

"Stunned?"

"Yeah."The younger Green stood up."Help me drag him to the middle, will you?"

"What, you're going to do it here?"

"Yeah.Why not?Have you seen any of the others?"

Fisher looked around the clearing, just as Green had done after Stunning the first man."No.But don't you think it would be safer to do it back at the Ministry?"

"I'd rather not take any chances.We can't Apparate with him, of course.You know the Portkey takes us to a spot about a mile away from the Ministry offices, for security, so even if we used that we'd have to carry him the rest of the way.And even if we had help ... Fisher, I think it's safer to just do it here.If he gets loose again, they're likely to kill him."

The man thought about this for a few seconds, then nodded slowly."Alright.Just let me take a look around and secure the area."

He walked back into the woods, and in his absence Green grabbed the Stunned man's hands and began to pull him to the center of the clearing.By the time she had finished, Fisher had returned.

"Everything looks fine.I'm going to take up a position a few yards back, where I can hear anyone coming, and I'm going to watch.Alright?"

She nodded, and Fisher left the clearing again.Green stood and regarded the Stunned man for a moment.

"Mundungus Fletcher," she murmured.

She reached into her cloak and drew out a small black velvet pouch.From within it she pulled out a handful of what appeared to be dust.

Holding the pouch and her wand in her left hand, she began to sprinkle the dust on the ground as she walked in a wide circle around Mundungus Fletcher.

"Imperius Curse," the real Professor Green whispered.Harry jumped; he had become so involved in watching the memory that he had forgotten the other watchers in the room.

She continued to explain."Fletcher was a low-level clerk working at the Ministry, and I suspected that the Death Eaters had put him under the Imperius Curse in order to get him to pass information to them."

"What are you doing?" Neville asked, fascinated.

She looked down at Harry and Neville."You two—three—" she added, remembering Snape, "are going to witness something that very few wizards ever see.This is a Summoning."

Neville gasped."We're going to see a Summoning?"

She nodded, grinning excitedly.But apparently she could read Harry's confusion even in the darkness."Harry, the Summoning is the process by which a Dark wizard is forced to choose his destiny.It's like having all the good and evil things you ever did laid out before you, and being forced to choose which version of yourself you want to be—the good one, or the evil one.There are no other options.

"That's phoenix ash," she added, nodding at her younger self, who had almost finished sprinkling the dust-like substance in a circle around the prostrate Fletcher.

"Fletcher was a Dark wizard?" Harry asked. 

Professor Green shook her head."No.The Summoning is also useful for bringing a person out from under the Imperius Curse.You see, it lets them choose.It gives them their will back, in a sense.Shhh!It's about to start."

The younger Green had returned to the spot where she had started the circle.She closed the small pouch and put it back inside her cloak.Then she pointed her wand at Fletcher and shouted, "_Enervate!"_

He awoke, dazed, and looked around, not seeming to register where he was or what was happening.Green glanced around one last time to make sure no one was coming, took a deep breath, pointed her wand at Fletcher, and began to incant.

"_Accio animus zamius, optare bonum, an optare pernicies..._"

It was a very long incantation, and Harry couldn't make out all the words, but the younger Green seemed to know them all by heart.As she spoke, she kept her wand pointed straight at Mundungus Fletcher and paced around the circle.After a moment, Fletcher seemed to realize what was happening.He stood up angrily and began to shout.

"Stop!He's mine!You can't do this!"He walked to the edge of the circle, and appeared to contemplate crossing it.

Green ignored him.She finished the incantation just as she returned to the spot from which she started.Then, as soon as she stopped speaking, crimson flames sprang up from the phoenix ash scattered around the clearing.Fletcher sprang back from the flames and into the center of the circle.He glanced angrily at Green and let out a piercing shriek.

"NO!"

The flames grew very tall—taller than either of the figures standing in the clearing—and began to twist sideways, forming a kind of fiery vortex.It reminded Harry of pictures of tornadoes that he'd seen in books, except that the tornado was bright red and upside-down.And at its tip, about ten feet in the air, was Mundungus Fletcher.

Harry would have had a difficult time describing what he now saw happening to Fletcher.And if he had never seen it, and had only heard about it from someone else, he doubted he would have been able to imagine it.Fletcher was levitating motionless at the tip of this vortex.He wasn't spinning, though Harry thought at first that he was—he was stationary.But it was as though a Fletcher-shaped hole had been cut in space, so that you could see things flying past the hole in some other 

dimension.What those things were, Harry couldn't make out, except that some appeared very bright, and some very dark, and the rest must have occupied every possible place on the spectrum in between.

At first the alternating pieces of light and dark flew by very quickly, but after a few minutes they began to slow down, until eventually the brighter ones outnumbered the dark ones.Finally a blinding light shone from the Fletcher-shaped hole in the universe.The fire shrunk down to the height of a candle flame, and Fletcher fell onto his hands and knees in the grass.

Just at that moment, another man Apparated into the clearing, behind Green.It wasn't Fisher—this man wasn't wearing the Aurors' black cloak and boots.Instead, he wore a regular brown wizard's robe.As he pulled a wand out of his left sleeve, Harry could see a black mark on his left forearm.

Persephone Green hadn't noticed the man who Apparated behind her; instead, she seemed transfixed by the sight of Fletcher.Harry wanted to shout out to warn Green, but he caught himself at the last second, remembering that this was only a memory.As he watched, the man pointed his wand at Green's back.

Suddenly Green stiffened, alert.

"_Cruci_—"Before the man could pronounce the curse, Green turned around to face him and kicked his wand out of his hand.She then pointed her own wand at the man.

"Mulciber, I presume?" she addressed him calmly."_Stupef_—"

But the man had learned by her example; he advanced on her and knocked the wand out of her hand before she could Stun him.

Green backed up, and stood, feet apart, hands up, in what Harry recognized as a fighting stance.She quickly pulled something out of a sheath on her belt—a small, golden dagger that gleamed in the moonlight.


	18. The Healing Dagger

_(Author's Note: Please be warned, this part is fairly bloody and violent. Again, I don't own any of these characters, except Persephone and Demetrius.)_

Harry let out a satisfied chuckle. Mulciber was unarmed; Green was in her element now.  


"You think I have the advantage." Professor Green's voice came from somewhere to his right, but Harry continued to watch the combatants in the clearing.  


"He's unarmed," Neville observed.   


"You don't need a wand to read somebody's mind. Look at his face. All I'm reading is his hostility. He's reading my every intention."  


Harry surveyed Mulciber's face, or what he could see of it in the moonlight. Mulciber frowned with concentration, and his eyes were unmoving, fixed on the younger Green's face. They glittered with a sort of intelligent malice.  


"Fletcher belongs to us. Give him back, you Mudblood-loving--" He called Green a very impolite name.  


"Er, sorry." Professor Green whispered, grimacing. "Forgot about that."  


The younger Green smiled and raised an eyebrow. "You might want to watch that language," she said to Mulciber. "Your life's in my hands now."  


"The hell it is." Mulciber turned and bolted toward the edge of the woods, but before he got there, Green had grabbed him from behind by the collar of his robes.  


She tripped him so that he fell facedown in the grass, and pushed his face into the ground with her left hand. As he struggled, she knelt down on his back, pushing her left knee hard into the back of his neck. "Now," she said to herself without the slightest hint of agitation, as though she were trying to remember where she had set her quill, "where is that Achilles tendon?"  


Still holding Mulciber's struggling head to the ground with her left hand, she reached over his leg with her right hand--the hand holding the dagger. Just as she was about to slash at the back of his calf, Mulciber reached back with all his might and elbowed her in the ribs.  


Green was stunned just long enough for Mulciber to roll over and push her off him. And at once he was on her, his hands around her neck. She jabbed at him several times with the dagger, but he anticipated the jabs, and dodged her every move. He began to laugh.  


"Classic rookie mistake," Professor Green commented. "Thinking too hard, when I should have been acting on instinct. That's what throws them off."  


But the younger Green clearly lacked the benefit of this understanding. She continued to jab and kick at Mulciber, and he continued to dodge every blow. Finally, he reached back and punched her across her face, as hard as he could.  


Harry winced; beside him, he saw Neville do the same. He even thought he heard Snape make an odd gasping noise.  


The hand holding the golden dagger went limp. Quickly, ruthlessly, Mulciber grabbed the dagger out of Green's hand and cut savagely at her throat.  


This time Harry, Neville, and Snape all winced in unison. Blood was pouring freely from a deep gash running from just below Green's left ear to the middle of her throat. But she was still conscious--she reached weakly out toward Mulciber, and made a sickening gurgling sound that Harry supposed must have been an attempt at speech.   


But now Mulciber ignored her. He stood up and dashed over to Fletcher, who was still on his hands and knees in the Summoning Circle, dazed and oblivious to the fight. Mulciber knelt down next to him.  


"They'll be coming soon," he muttered. "And when they do, they can't find you alive. If I had time to do a Memory Charm, you would have lived." He shrugged. "Ah, well."  


Just then the forest, the clearing, and the figures within it--the entire memory--began to fade from view. "Yes, this is where it gets a bit hazy," Professor Green explained. "On account of all the blood leaving my brain. But we should still be able to make out what happens next."  


Harry could dimly see Mulciber reach back, preparing to plunge the dagger into Fletcher's side. But before he could finish the motion, a man's voice called out from the forest, to Harry's right.  


"_Stupefy!_"   


An incredibly well-aimed Stunning spell shot out from behind a tree and dropped Mulciber where he knelt. A man ran into the circle, wearing a black cloak and boots identical to the ones Fisher and Green wore. He glanced down at the dazed Fletcher and the unconscious Mulciber, and saw the golden dagger in Mulciber's hand. He reached down, grabbed it, and held it up in the moonlight. The luminous blade was obscured by what could only be blood.  


"My God."  


Because Green had gone quiet, he had to look around for a second before spotting her on the edge of the clearing opposite the one he'd just come from. He ran over to her.  


"You'll be alright, Persephone," he murmured as he placed the edge of the blade to the gash in her neck. Quickly but carefully, very carefully, he ran the blade through the cut, from her throat to her ear. His motion was the same as the one Mulciber had used to cut her, but in reverse. As he drew the dagger through the gash, Harry could see that it healed Green's flesh, just as it had bound the parchment that night in her office. The man stuck the dagger into the ground. At once, Green sat up and drew a long, rattling breath. She turned over on her side and coughed loudly, spewing blood onto the grass.  


"Come on, you're alright."  


To Harry's right, Neville whispered in amazement. "Wow--Dad."  


Suddenly the memory swung back into vivid focus. Frank Longbottom stood up, and the moon illuminated his features as he faced the watchers, unaware of their existence. Harry was very surprised to note that he was tall and thin, not stocky like Neville, though he did have Neville's brown eyes. At the moment (and curiously, to Harry), he was smiling.  


"What's happened here?" A scarred face framed by black hair poked out from the trees on the right. There was no mistaking that face, or that voice. They belonged to Mad-Eye Moody.   


"Looks like Green was right about Fletcher," Longbottom said, gesturing toward the two figures on the ground inside the circle of now cold phoenix ash. He didn't try to hide the smile in his voice.  


"What the hell happened to her?" Moody asked, walking over to the spot where Longbottom stood. At his feet, Green was on her hands and knees, still sputtering.  


"Mulciber got the dagger away from her. Cut her pretty badly, but she's alright. Did you find Fisher?"  


Moody regarded Green, then looked up at Longbottom and nodded. "He's alright, just Stunned. Lucky. Could have killed him just as easily." He looked back down at Green, then knelt beside her.  


"What were you thinking?" he barked suddenly. His tone was mercilessly harsh. Now I know where she learned it, Harry thought, remembering the way Professor Green had yelled at him during their five mile runs.  


Green couldn't speak. She just breathed heavily, still woozy from loss of blood, and stared at the grass.  


"I hope you have a good explanation for this, Green. Otherwise Johnson will have your hide."  


"Alastor," Longbottom said softly. "Come on. Not now."  


Moody stood up. "Alright, let's get them out of here. You take her, I'll get these two. We'll have to use the Portkey."  


Longbottom put his arm around Green and helped her up. She stood unsteadily. He guided her toward the circle, where Moody was conjuring a stretcher for Mulciber. Suddenly, Longbottom lost his hold and Green collapsed to the ground again.   


There she found herself face-to-face with Mundungus Fletcher, who was still on his hands and knees. He looked up and saw her face, dazed and covered with drying blood. A flash of recognition passed between them. They both smiled. Longbottom knelt to pick Green up again, but hesitated.   


Very, very quietly, Fletcher whispered something to her. If it hadn't been Professor Green's memory, and Harry had really been standing in the clearing, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to hear it. But in fact the words were eerily audible to the watchers, though just barely. Harry heard them as though Fletcher were whispering right in his ear.  


"Thank you."

The clearing receded from view completely and darkness once again enveloped the four watchers. But only for a second. Then a room appeared around them.  


The room was lit. Not brightly, but its brightness was a stark enough contrast from the preceding darkness that it was a moment before Harry could see properly. Once his eyes had adjusted, he saw that they were standing in a room not unlike the courtoom he remembered from the Pensieve. There were no windows, the walls and floor were made of gray stone, and torches in brackets lined the walls--Harry turned around--all four of them. But this room was smaller than the courtroom, and there were no benches where an audience could sit.   


The watchers stood with their backs to one of the walls, facing a very large fireplace on the opposite side of the room. Just before them stood a single long, wooden table surrounded by chairs. Above the table a few candles hovered in midair.  


Two of the chairs on the watchers' side and at the right end of the table were occupied. Harry could see that the figure sitting farthest from him was Fisher, the young man from the clearing, and the nearer figure was the younger Professor Green. Her hair was matted with dirt, leaves, and blades of grass, and her black cloak was covered in something dark--it was difficult to tell what, but Harry figured it must be dried blood. Her face and hands were clean, as if she had just washed them, but the livid scar on her neck, having just scabbed over, was brutally conspicuous. Harry remembered the seamless mending of the parchment.  


"They do that--scar, I mean--when anyone other than the person who created the wound closes it," Professor Green explained.  


But that wasn't the only question on Harry's mind. "The Summoning," he began, "what h--"  


"Shhh," she forestalled him. "Just wait a bit. After I've shown you these memories I'll answer all your questions about the Summoning. Right now I've got to concentrate on exactly what happened."   


Harry nodded silently. A door to the left opened, and in walked Mad-Eye Moody--followed by Mrs. Figg.  


"Who's she?" Neville asked.  


"Mrs. Figg was my mentor. She was the retiring Summoner who appointed me as her replacement."  


"But I don't understand, I thought my father was your mentor."  


"He was." She spoke gently but quickly, as though in a hurry to end the explanations. "From the time I finished my training until Mrs. Figg decided to retire."  


"Mrs. Figg was a Summoner, then," Harry said, more to himself than to anyone else.  


Professor Green nodded. "For years and years. But about nine months after I finished Auror training she decided she wanted to retire in a few years--it takes years to train a replacement, you know--and she appointed me as her protégé. There was a lot of talk about that, I can tell you: I was only a rookie, and a Slytherin to boot! But quiet now! It's about to start."  


Moody and Mrs. Figg had taken seats at the table opposite Green and Fisher. The four of them smiled politely at each other in greeting, though Harry noticed that Green's and Fisher's smiles seemed a bit forced, and they kept looking down at their hands. Suddenly, with a loud crackling noise, the flames in the fireplace surged and turned bright green. A woman stepped out of the flames and into the room. The four Aurors at the table stood.  


"Glenda Johnson," Professor Green whispered. "She was Head Auror then."  


Glenda Johnson was a very short black woman with gray shoulder length hair. She stood motionless as her quick brown eyes surveyed the four others with a kind of military efficiency. After a moment, she barked one word. An order.  


"Sit."  


The four took their seats again. Green and Fisher did not dare to look away from her steely gaze, but Fisher's hands were shaking in his lap.  


Johnson spoke slowly, and enunciated every syllable with an almost painful precision. "Would anyone care to tell me what has just occurred?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.  


Green cleared her throat. Her voice was hoarse and shaky, as though it were being used for the first time, but she spoke with conviction. "Fisher and I were watching Fletcher, just as we were ordered, and he attacked us, then fled. We pursued him--"  


"Kindly skip to the part," Johnson cut in, "where a Summoner not quite two years out of Auror training, in an exposed environment and without the guidance or CONSENT--" her voice was slowly gaining volume now "- of her mentor proceeds to put her own life and that of her partner in JEOPARDY by performing one of the most COMPLICATED CHARMS KNOWN--"  


"Please, ma'am," Fisher's voice trembled. "But I'm partly to blame. I let her do it."  


"I WAS NOT ADDRESSING YOU, MISTER FISHER," the little witch bellowed, causing everyone in the room to flinch, including the watchers, "BUT I ASSURE YOU THAT YOU WILL HAVE YOUR CHANCE TO EXPLAIN!"  


Fisher fell silent, cowed.  


"Green," Johnson said in her former, quieter tone, "what were you thinking?"  


Green returned her gaze. "Ma'am, I thought it would be the safest way. I wanted to get Fletcher out from under Mulciber's Imperius Curse as soon as possible."  


"But why? You had him Stunned."  


Green nodded. "Yes. But I didn't want to take any chances."  


Johnson was shaking her head. "Green, you weren't thinking."  


Surprisingly, Green seemed to be growing irritated at the line of questioning. "You don't understand. You don't know how long Mulciber had Fletcher under. I wanted to get him out. What if it were you? Wouldn't you want to be liberated sooner rather than later? Look, Fisher and I took all the precautions--"  


"YOU DID NOT!" Johnson interrupted. "If you had, the Summoning   
Charm would have been performed here--"  


"--and we would not have Mulciber in custody!" Green's eyes flashed with anger. "With all due respect, Mrs. Johnson, I don't see the problem. Fletcher's alright, Fisher's alright, I'm alright--"  


Johnson's eyes widened in disbelief and then, quite unexpectedly, she began to laugh. It was a cold laugh of surprise, not at all happy or pleased. "Green, you can't be serious. You don't see the problem, you say?" She stopped laughing just as suddenly as she had started. "Have you looked in a mirror lately? Green, you nearly lost your head."  


Green clenched her fists at her sides, and the two women stared at each other angrily. Just then they heard a knock. Johnson, perturbed at the interruption, walked to the door and opened it.  


She began conversing angrily with the person standing outside, who Harry couldn't see, but her voice soon quieted. Back at the table, Moody and Mrs. Figg exchanged surprised glances. Moody turned to Green.  


"So that was your first Summoning, eh, Green?" He had difficulty surpressing a smile. Mrs. Figg was more successful at hiding hers, though it showed through her feigned solemnity for a split second.   


Green nodded, smiling in return. Across the room, the door shut.   


"Moody," Johnson said. Moody immediately stood up and walked over to her. Mrs. Figg and Green were paying very close attention to Johnson now, while Fisher continued to stare down at his trembling hands. Johnsoin whispered something to Moody that Harry could not hear, though he thought he discerned the words, "Get Longbottom." Moody left the room hurriedly.  


Johnson made her way back to the others. "Fisher, you are dismissed," she told the young man tersely. He looked around as though convinced that his ears were playing tricks on him.  


"GO!"  


Fisher stood up so suddenly his chair fell over backwards, and walked out of the room as quickly as his legs would carry him. Green stood up as well.  


"Mrs. Johnson, what's wrong?"  


"Sit down, Green."  


She remained standing. "Something's wrong. Tell me what's happened."  


"Persephone," Johnson said very softly, with a warmth that Harry would not have thought her capable of. "Sit down."  


Apparently Green was surprised at Johnson's tone too, because she sat very, very slowly, never taking her eyes off Johnson's face. Mrs. Figg watched intently, but patiently.   


For the first time since she had entered the little room, Johnson sat down at the table, opposite Green. She took a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her. It was a moment before she spoke.  


"Persephone." There was that tone again. It's more frightening than her shouting, Harry thought. Something's horribly wrong.   


"It's Demetrius."  


Mrs. Figg gasped and put her hand to her mouth. She reached out and grabbed Green's hand across the table.  


"What?" Green asked, puzzled.  


Johnson paused, thinking, then said, "I don't know any way to tell you this, other than to just say it. Persephone, he's gone. He's been killed."  


Mrs. Figg looked down and tightened her grip on Green's hand. Green didn't move, but simply peered at Johnson curiously, as though she were speaking in a foreign language that Green didn't understand. Finally, she shook her head.  


"No. That's not possible."  


"I'm sorry, Persephone, I'm afraid it's true. A couple of Death Eaters found him at work. Half the department is there now."  


"No." Green continued to shake her head, and a faraway smile settled on her lips. Her eyes were glazed, unseeing. She spoke calmly, as though she were correcting a child with a mistaken idea. "That can't be. There have been threats, but... Envoys are well-protected, their identities are kept secret. No Envoy has ever been attacked by a Death Eater. "  


"Until now."  


Green's expression did not change. "I just saw him this morning. Tomorrow's his birthday. We're having dinner with the Longbottoms tonight," she said, as though these facts made Demetrius' death impossible.   


The door opened, and Frank Longbottom rushed into the room. He ran over and embraced Green, who then surveyed him with calm curiosity.  


"Oh God, Persephone, they've just told me. Are you alright? Is she alright?" he asked, sitting back on his heels and looking from Green to Johnson. Johnson just shook her head.  


"Frank, tell them," Green said, still wearing the faraway smile and glazed look. "It can't be. We're having dinner with you and Audrey tonight. Tell them." Longbottom just looked at her sadly. No one answered.   


Finally, Johnson cleared her throat. "Have you notified her father?"  


"I've sent him an owl, but he's out of the country on business for the next few days," Longbottom replied. "I've also sent an owl to my wife, we can look after her until he gets back."  


Mrs. Figg wore a pained look. "I'm sorry that I can't be with you, Persephone, but I have to go to Wales today." Green didn't answer. Mrs. Figg walked around the table, bent over, and kissed Green's forehead. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.  


Johnson also stood. "I've got to get over there--you understand." She gave Longbottom a knowing look, and everyone knew that she meant the scene of the crime. "They'll be wondering why I'm not there already." She looked at Green with sad compassion. "I'm sorry, Persephone."  


But Green didn't answer. She didn't even look up as Johnson and Mrs. Figg swept out of the room. She was staring distractedly into a far corner.   


"I didn't think you'd be able to Apparate or anything, so I've told Audrey to come and get us. She's on her way." Longbottom looked at her with concern, but Green didn't make any movement to show that she had heard him.   


She continued to stare into space. "Not possible," she whispered. 


	19. The Hornbox

_Author's Note: Sorry this part has been so long coming. You may notice more of a delay between chapters now--sorry again.   
_

Thanks for the reviews! Sarah Black: LOL, it's so nice to be loved! Chocolate Frog: wow, good call--the idea for the dagger did indeed come from _The Subtle Knife_. Project Persephone: I know, sorry if the whole memory thing got tedious, I was just having so much fun with it. (BTW, please tell me where you got your name? And what happened to your story; did you take it down?) Thanks to everyone else, especially the regular reviewers like Hermione Chang, Gemma, and Tinabedina ... I never get tired of reviews. Keep 'em coming. :)  


All the usual disclaimers apply. I don't own this world, and no way am I gonna make any money off of it. And that suits me fine. 

***  


Darkness again. This time, though, no one said anything to Professor Green; they simply waited in silence for her to speak.   


"Neville, you saw what your father did for me. I owe him my life." Suddenly a room appeared around them again. This time, however, it was a kitchen, with the early morning sunlight streaming through a window over the sink, and framed photographs placed all around: on the tops of cabinets; on a side table; covering the walls. All of the pictures featured the same person--a round-faced, wide-eyed infant who reached out toward the viewer, or poked a wand curiously at a houseplant, or yawned to display a single tooth, or slept. At the far corner of the room sat a small square wooden table surrounded by four chairs.   


"Now," Professor Green continued, "I'm going to show you what your mother did for me."  


Somewhere, in another room, a door opened and slammed shut. A moment later Frank Longbottom walked through a doorway to the right, followed by a short blonde woman who half-guided, half-carried the younger Green to the table in the corner, where she sat. Green looked pale; the glazed look still hadn't left her eyes. The blonde woman turned to her husband.  


"Frank, why don't you make us some tea?"  


She spoke softly, but her voice cut through the silence like the ring of a bell. As though he had been waiting for her directions, Mr. Longbottom quickly produced a kettle from a cabinet, and busied himself setting the water to boil.   


The blonde woman sat next to Green, taking both Green's hands in her own, and looking into her face intently. Green did not return the woman's gaze or acknowledge her presence, however; she was watching Frank Longbottom prepare the tea, but her eyes did not follow his movements.   


Now that Audrey Longbottom had taken her seat at the table, she faced the four watchers. Harry noticed that she had a pleasant sort of face framed by straight, shoulder-length blonde hair. As she sat at the table, it was clear that she was very short--at least a head shorter than Green. And although she couldn't have been much older than thirty, her pale blue eyes, now red and a little puffy, were surrounded by little lines. Harry imagined she must have got those lines by laughing a lot; it was very easy to imagine her laughing, even though just now she wore a concerned frown.  


No one spoke as Mr. Longbottom prepared the tea. Finally he reached over the table and set a cup in front of Green, and a cup in front of his wife. Then he took a seat and began drinking from his own cup in silence.  


"I should go home."  


The Longbottoms glanced at each other soberly. "What, dear?" Mrs. Longbottom asked Green softly.  


Green looked over at her, as though noticing her for the first time. "Someone should be there when he gets home. He'll be wondering where I am." She articulated her words slowly and calmly, as though stating the obvious.   


Mr. Longbottom opened his mouth to speak, but his wife put up a hand to stop him.  


"Persephone, you can't. Not just now." She took a deep breath. "They may know where you live. Let the Ministry check things out first, make sure it's safe. You can stay here in the meantime."  


"No," Green protested. She shut her eyes tightly and shook her head. "No. You've got Neville to tend to. And I want to meet Demetrius at home. He'll be wondering where I am. I have to go."  


Suddenly Green stood up from the table and moved toward the doorway. The Longbottoms stood up as well: he stood in front of the door to block it, while she reached out and grabbed Green's arm from behind.  


"Let me go!" Green shouted, jerking her arm away violently. She wheeled around to face Mrs. Longbottom. Green and the Longbottoms were very close to the watchers now, and Harry found himself wishing he could back away. Even though he knew they couldn't touch him, their proximity was unsettling.  


"Don't you understand? There's been a mistake!" Green's face was contorted with anger--or was it fear? Mrs. Longbottom just shook her head in pity.  


"There's no mistake, Persephone."  


But Green wasn't listening. She moved to the door where Mr. Longbottom stood, and attempted to walk right through him. He grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her.  


"Let me go!" Green was crying now. She reached back and hit Mr. Longbottom across the face. A bead of crimson appeared on his lower lip.  


"Persephone, stop!" he shouted. He pushed her back against the wall next to the doorway and shook her roughly. "Listen to me! He's gone! He was our friend, we loved him too, but he's gone now!" He then buried his face in his hands and began to sob quietly. Green started to cry.   


Mrs. Longbottom rushed over and put her arms around Green, who was slowly sliding to the floor in tears. Mrs. Longbottom sat on the floor with her as she cried loudly; she placed Green's head on her shoulder and ran her fingers through the dark, wavy hair still matted with dirt and leaves. Mr. Longbottom sat down at the table again, his face still in his hands.  


"It can't be, it can't be true!" Green shouted through her tears. She raised her head and looked into Audrey Longbottom's red, wet eyes. "If he's dead, then so am I. He's my life! If he's dead--how will I live?"   


She threw her head back and let out a long, low, piercing scream that made Harry and Neville shiver, and Snape cringe. She screamed like a person being tortured, or like someone whose soul is collapsing under the weight of their grief. The screamed word seemed to reverberate around the room endlessly.  


"_Metri!_"  


The room went dark again, but just for a split second. Scene after scene appeared in rapid succession. The same kitchen, with Green and Mrs. Longbottom seated at the table in silence. A small country churchyard on an overcast day, with a handful of mourners wearing black. The kitchen again, with Green and Mrs. Longbottom talking, while a baby sat in a high chair at the table. As these scenes appeared and disappeared, Professor Green spoke.   


"Neville, I wish I had time to tell you all the things your mother did for me. All I can say is, she was my best friend in those weeks after Demetrius' murder. I saw her every day. Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we just sat. If she didn't see or hear from me, she would come over and check on me. And she would cook." She chuckled softly. "Neville, your mother was the best cook I've ever met. She was always cooking me casseroles, of all things. Whenever she suspected I wasn't eating enough, she would show up on my doorstep with some dish or other. And if I didn't bring the dish back the next day--empty--she would come by on the pretense of needing it back." She paused. "Your mother was the best friend I ever had. Besides Demetrius, of course." She turned back to the current scene: Green and Audrey Longbottom, sitting on a couch in a living room.  


It was clear to Harry that this room didn't belong in the same house as the kitchen they had seen before. For one thing, there were no pictures of the infant Neville set around the room. In fact, the room only contained one photograph: a very large wedding picture set on the mantle above the fireplace. Even though the picture was across the room from Harry, he could see the newlywed couple clearly. The young version of Persephone Green, identical to the one who had sat in the kitchen with Mrs. Longbottom, stood in red dress robes alongside a very tall dreadlocked man in black. He smiled down at her as she stared happily out into the room, waving occasionally.  


"It's about time."   


Harry looked over at the two women. The Green on the couch inspected the exterior a large brown backpack, but did not open it. She looked much thinner than before, with disheveled hair and dark circles under her eyes.  


"They've had it all this time?" asked Mrs. Longbottom.  


Green sighed. "Yes. Insisted on searching it. I can't imagine what they expected to find; did they suppose one of the Death Eaters was going to leave a present for me in here?"  


"Don't even joke about that!" Mrs. Longbottom exclaimed. "You know quite well that's exactly what the Ministry was worried about." She leaned over and examined the backpack herself. "So they checked it for hexes, did they?"  


"Yeah." Green eyed the large pack with a mixture of apprehension and eagerness. "I already went through all his things, you know, I had forgotten about the things he took to work with him ..." Her voice trailed off. She glanced briefly at Mrs. Longbottom.  


"You don't have to go through it now, you know."  


Green took a deep breath. "If not now, I'll just have to do it later. Better to get it over with."  


Green carefully pulled the zipper to open the main compartment of the pack. She reached inside and pulled out several articles of clothing- including what appeared to be hospital scrubs--sunglasses, and a couple of small books. These she set in a pile on the floor. Finally, she reached inside and pulled out a small box wrapped in bright crimson foil.   


Mrs. Longbottom put a hand to her mouth. "Do you think?--someone at work must have given him an early birthday present--"  


"No," Green replied as she examined the box. She set it on her palm. It was so small it didn't even cover her hand. "He hadn't worked there very long. He was just transferred a couple of months before--"  


"From his family, then?"   


Green shook her head. "He hadn't seen them for three weeks. Look." She fingered a tag attached to one side. Even from across the room Harry could make out the four letters in large black print: "Seph".   


"A year," Green muttered. Then she started to laugh. Mrs. Longbottom stared at her in puzzlement. Green turned to her. "Can you believe I nearly forgot? It would have been a year, five days after his birthday."   


"Oh. Your anniversary."  


Green nodded. She turned back to the little crimson package on her palm.  


"Are you going to open it?"  


Green thought about this. She turned the little package over and over in her hand, as if it would help her to decide.  


"Yeah."  


Slowly she slid a finger along a crease in the foil, and opened it. She pulled the foil off the package and set it aside. A tiny box sat on the palm of her left hand.  


Mrs. Longbottom and Neville gasped simultaneously.  


The box was dark brown and open at the top, without hinges or a lid. Harry could see the lines and curves of shadow that covered its sides, but it was too far away for him to clearly make out the carvings. He stole a glance at Snape, whose eyes glittered with recognition. Harry recognized the box too, of course--it was the same one that Peeves had smashed on the first day of classes. He wondered exactly what it was.   


The younger Persephone Green of the memory couldn't have read Harry's mind or emotions, but she gave voice to his thoughts anyway. "What is it?"  


"Persephone," Mrs. Longbottom answered in a low, surprised whisper, "haven't you ever seen a Hornbox before?"  


Green frowned and shook her head. "A what?"  


Mrs. Longbottom stared in amazement at the little box in her hand. "You're a pure-blood witch, I'm surprised you haven't seen or at least heard of one. They're incredibly rare, and very valuable." She carefully picked the box up out of Green's palm. "It's a box carved in a single piece from a unicorn's horn--that's why there's no lid, see?" She pointed to the open top. "It carries a very powerful Protection Charm that keeps its owner safe from harm; all the person has to do is place a lock of hair inside."  


She smiled warmly at Green, who continued to frown in confusion. "I don't understand. It didn't protect _him_--"  


"No, dear," Mrs. Longbottom interrupted. "That's not how it works. It has to be given by someone who loves, to someone who is loved by that person. The giver invokes the charm, you see. Demetrius must have charmed it before he wrapped it."  


Green took the box out of Mrs. Longbottom's hand and held up close to her face. "He always complained about how dangerous my job was. He worried. I--I didn't worry about him at all." She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "Where--how--did he get it?"  


"That's what I don't understand." Mrs. Longbottom peered closely at the box as well. "Because Demetrius was a Muggle-born, and these are found almost exclusively in wizarding families. Frank's cousin has one, in fact. Most of them are very, very old. Handed down from parent to child, or sometimes from one spouse to another. There may be some new ones for sale, but the cost--well it would be ridiculously expensive." She shook her head. "I just don't know."  


They sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the box.  


"You're sure they checked everything for hexes?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, standing up.   


"Yes, of course."  


"Well, just the same, I wonder if you would let Frank check it over. To be sure."  


Green glanced up at Mrs. Longbottom. "Of course, I don't mind," she replied hoarsely, obviously not meaning it. But her friend was right; if this item did not belong with Demetrius' things, it would be wisest to double-check that it wasn't hexed. Reluctantly, she handed the Hornbox over.  


Mrs. Longbottom sensed Green's unwillingness to part with the gift. She hugged her, and whispered, "Don't worry, dear. I'll bring it back as soon as I can." Then Mrs. Longbottom walked to the door, opened it, and stepped outside.  


Once again darkness filled the room, completely blinding the four watchers. "Lumos," said a voice to Harry's right, and Professor Green's wandtip lit up. She waved it over the lamp on her desk, which immediately illuminated the room. Neville stood silent at Harry's side, lost in thought.  


"Professor Snape," Professor Green said as she moved toward him. For one gleeful moment Harry thought she was going to insult him again. But she wasn't smiling, as she had been in the corridor; she simply looked at Snape earnestly. "I shouldn't have struck you. I'm sorry." Inspecting the receding red mark on the left side of his face, she reached up and touched it.   


But the apology appeared to anger Snape more than the original offense. He flinched and backed away, still clenching his fists at his sides. His expression changed in an instant from surprise to utter hostility. "I'm not interested in your trite apologies," he hissed. "And I sincerely hope that in the future you will find more appropriate ways of expressing your frustration. I would expect as much from one appointed to teach students how to defend themselves against violent acts." He did not meet her eyes as he spoke. He did, however, glance briefly at Neville before turning on his heel and leaving the room.  


Professor Green stared at the door thoughtfully.  


"What a shame," she mused. "You boys must think of him simply as a big bully. But he once had a great deal of potential. Still has, in fact."  


Harry didn't understand. "Potential to become a powerful wizard?"   


"Potential," Professor Green answered, turning back around to face him, "to become a decent human being."  


She turned to Neville.  


"Seeing those memories again, I realize how little I'm showing you. All my memories are through my eyes, so I can only show you your parents as I saw them. I wish you could see them as they really were."   


"No," Neville answered, staring at the far wall as though he might still glimpse his parents there. "I've never seen them--like that. They--they don't remember me, you know." His voice was a little sad, but carried no trace of self-pity. "Professor Green, thank you."  


She smiled. "Harry, you were going to ask me something."  


"Yeah," Harry mumbled, trying to remember what it was that he had meant to ask. "Oh! The Summoning."  


"Yes?"  


"Well, what happens to the person afterward?"  


Green walked around her desk and sat down behind it. "That's a very good question. It depends upon what the wizard chooses. If he chooses good, then he gets another chance. He goes on just like he did before."  


Neville looked as confused as Harry felt. "But then he can just go right back to the Dark Arts?"  


"Theoretically, yes. But none ever has. Though that hasn't stopped Fletcher from causing mischief anyway." She laughed.   


"And what if the person chooses the Dark Side?" Harry asked.  


She paused for a moment, then looked gravely from Harry to Neville and back again. "Didn't you ever wonder where Dementors come from, Harry? They don't get together and have little Dementor babies." She smiled wryly. "Dementors are made, not born. Made from Dark wizards who have forsaken everything that is good within them--the last vestiges of their humanity."  


Harry was stunned. He couldn't believe he had never considered the Dementors' origins before, but this made sense. Suddenly he was struck by a thought.  


"And you--have you ever made a Dementor?"  


Professor Green chuckled. "Oh, no. Summonings are very rare nowadays. When the incantation was first invented several hundred years ago, wizards used it indiscriminately--that's how we got most of the Dementors we have now. They live a very long time, you see. Then the Wizard's Council finally wised up and reined in their Summoners. Now the incantation you just saw is only used as a last resort."   


"So that's why you have to be able to read people. You have to know what they would choose," Neville concluded. Professor Green nodded.  


"The Summoning Incantation is only used on dabblers--those who we doubt would turn completely over to the Dark Side, but who prefer not to choose. We force them into a decision, so to speak."  


As Neville and Harry made their way up to Gryffindor Tower a few minutes later, Neville explained what had happened to his parents, and Harry pretended to listen as though he hadn't known. As he settled into bed, he tried to imagine what it must be like to have parents who can't remember you. Was it worse never to have known them, or to be able to know them when they couldn't know you back? 


	20. The Christmas Duel

"Where _were_ you two last night?"  


Harry opened his eyes to a mass of brilliant orange hovering a few inches above his face. It was Ron. The full morning sunlight tinged his hair with a fiery glow. He grinned toothily into Harry's squinting face.  


"Get up already, it's nearly eleven! You've missed breakfast. We waited all morning for you, but we're not waiting any longer. Hermione's in the Common Room right now."   


As Harry got up and began to dress, Ron moved back toward the stairs.  


"Hey!" Harry called hoarsely. "Where are you going?"   


"Back down to the Common Room. I want to tell Hermione you're coming. We're both dying to hear where you were all night."  


"Don't go yet." Harry looked over at Neville, still sleeping soundly. "Wake him up too. He can go down with us."  


Ron shrugged and walked over to Neville's bed. "Oy! Neville! Wake up, it's almost lunchtime!"  


Neville sat up in bed and looked around confusedly. "It is?"  


"Yeah." Ron was laughing now.  


"Neville," Harry called, "how about a game of chess before lunch?"  


Neville really looked confused now. Not only had he just been woken up out of a dead slumber, but he was being invited to join Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Common Room. He smiled.  


"Oh. Alright then," he replied quietly.   


They reached the foot of the stairs to fine Hermione standing there waiting for them. "Well, where _were_ you? I was really worried, you know!"  


Ron snorted. "Yeah, she thought Snape had finished you both off once and for all--"  


"No, Ron!" Hermione interrupted. "That was you. _I_ thought Neville might have been hurt really badly--"  


"I told you he wasn't! Anyway," Ron said as he herded them all toward four fluffy chairs in the corner of the room. "Let's hear it. What happened?"  


Harry glanced at Neville, uncertain whether he would want to tell them about his parents. But Neville just grinned, and began to tell the story of the previous night's events. When he told them how Professor Green had hit Snape, Hermione gasped and Ron howled with laughter. When Neville explained about his parents, and how he had seen Green's memories of them, Ron and Hermione fell silent and listened attentively. Neville told them everything, including the origins of the little box they had seen Peeves smash, and where Dementors came from.  


"Well, I knew that part," Ron said when he had finished.   


"But you actually got to see a Summoning!" Hermione squeaked. "Oh, tell me what it was like, Neville. I want details!"  


"Tell her on the way to lunch, Neville," Ron advised. "I'm hungry." And the four of them crossed the room and climbed through the portrait hole on their way to the Great Hall.  


As they sat down at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was still listening raptly as Neville thoroughly described each detail of the memories he had seen the night before. Ron turned to Harry.   


"Oh, I meant to tell you! Errol came this morning with a message from Mum. She says I'm to come home for Christmas this year; Charlie and Bill are going to be there. Percy and Penelope too."  


"Oh," Harry replied, trying unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment.   


"Yeah, I guess she's still worried about You-Know-Who being on the loose and all. Probably wants to have a proper holiday with us before something awful happens." Ron rolled his eyes. As he moved to hand over a large bowl of green salad, he caught the look of dismay on Harry's face. "No, you nitwit! She wants you to come too!"  


Harry perked up instantly. "Really?"  


"Yeah. She also owled Hermione's parents and invited her, but they said they want her home for the holidays. Something about her having been away for four Christmases." He shrugged. "Oh, but Mum says you've got to get Dumbledore's permission."  


Harry glanced over at the staff table, where Dumbledore sat in conversation with Professor McGonagall. He was certain Dumbledore wouldn't begrudge him a nice Christmas with the Weasleys, but then he had also forced Harry to return to the Dursleys' every summer, for reasons Harry still didn't know. There was no telling what he would say.  


But there was only one way to find out. After downing their lunches, Harry and Ron made their way to the staff table. As he stood across the table from Dumbledore, Harry suddenly realized that he had never approached the table in the middle of a meal before. He hoped this wasn't some sort of breach of etiquette. Professor McGonagall eyed them curiously.  


Dumbledore looked up from his tomato soup. "Yes, Harry. Ronald. May I help you?"  


"Professor," Harry began, "I needed to ask you something."  


"Yes?"  


"Well, I--Mrs. Weasley's just invited me to spend Christmas with her, and I was wondering ... I mean, I would need your permission ..."  


Dumbledore and McGonagall looked at each other. Dumbledore turned back to Harry and Ron.  


"Boys, I've just finished my lunch. Why don't we go for a walk and discuss this?"  


Dumbledore stood up, and Harry and Ron followed him out of the Great Hall across the entrance hall to the large stone staircase. They expected Dumbledore to say something to them, but he didn't speak a word until he gave the stone gargoyle guarding his office the password ("treacle fudge") and took them inside.  


Ron had obviously never been inside Dumbledore's office before. He whirled around to fully take in the large round room--the tall bookshelves brimming over with volumes; the venerable portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses, most of whom slept. As he caught sight of Fawkes sitting on his perch near the door, he started. "Hullo, Fawkes," he said.   


"Now then," Dumbledore began, sitting down behind his desk and motioning for the two boys to sit in across from him, "I apologize for bringing you boys all the way up here just to tell you this. I'm very sorry, Harry, but I can't send you to the Weasleys' over the winter holiday this year."  


"But why not?" Ron cried impatiently. "The Muggles won't mind!"  


Dumbledore smiled at him. "That's not the problem, Ronald. Harry, I believe Mrs. Figg told you over the summer about the Fidelius Charm I invoked when I first took you to live with your relatives?"  


"Yeah," Harry said, remembering the conversation which had taken place in Mrs. Figg's kitchen several months before.  


"She may not have told you all the particulars. You might have been wondering, for instance, why I did not allow you to return directly to the Weasleys' last summer."  


Harry thought for a moment. It took him a while to remember that the Weasleys had invited him to stay with them last summer, and that Dumbledore had insisted he return to the Dursleys'. With all that had happened at the end of the last term, he had nearly forgotten.   


"The way this particular charm works," Dumbledore explained, "you're protected while you're with the Dursleys, and then for two months after you leave them. When you're here at school, of course, you're safe anyway, so the school year is not a problem. But if you left here now, you'd be unprotected."  


Harry winced. He had already received a letter from the Dursleys informing him curtly that they were spending Christmas with Aunt Marge and her vicious pit bull, Ripper, and that Harry was to stay at school for the holiday. He wouldn't even be able to go to the Dursleys' briefly, and then have Ron pick him up.  


"But there's no danger, is there?" Ron asked impatiently. "I mean, if he was with me and my parents, he'd be safe."  


Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that would be too much of a risk."  


"But we haven't heard anything--"  


"_Especially because_ we haven't heard anything of Voldemort." Dumbledore crossed his hands on top of the desk. The matter was clearly decided. "I'm sorry."  


Someone knocked on the door behind them. They turned around just in time to see the door open and a large black dog bound excitedly into the room.  


Sirius stopped next to Harry's chair and resumed his human form. Harry stood up to greet him, and Sirius put his arm around Harry's shoulders. He looked into Harry's eyes concernedly.  


"I didn't expect to find you two here," he said, noticing Ron. "Is everything all right?"  


"We've just been discussing our holiday plans," Dumbledore replied warmly. "It's good to see you again, Sirius. Any news?"  


Sirius looked slightly confused by Dumbledore's answer. Still, he answered him quickly. "No, I'm afraid not. Remus wasn't able to find out anything." He turned back to Harry and Ron. "Say, what did you mean, holiday plans?"  


"My Mum's invited Harry for Christmas," Ron answered, "but he can't come because of that Fidelius thing."  


Sirius smiled. "Well, that's alright, isn't it? We'll just have to spend Christmas together at Hogwarts."  


"Yes," Dumbledore mused. "Yes, I'm sure that could be arranged."  


"I'm staying too," a voice called from behind them. Harry and Ron whirled around; they hadn't noticed Professor Green standing there. She must have been the one who let Sirius into the office in the first place. "My dad is going to spend the holidays with my stepmother's family, and Penny's going to be with the Weasleys." She nodded at Ron. "So it works out. I mean, it won't look odd for my dog to be here if I'm here, too."  


Harry smiled. Now Ron was the one who looked disappointed. Dumbledore clasped his hands together enthusiastically. "It's settled then! Harry, you will politely decline Mrs. Weasley's invitation and inform her that you will spend your holiday here."  


"Great," Ron muttered as they walked through the corridor toward the portrait of the Fat Lady. "You get to spend the holiday here with Sirius, Hagrid, and Green, and I get to spend it listening to Percy go on about quality control standards for imported wand cores." 

***

The last couple of weeks before the Christmas holidays passed very quickly, probably in part because Harry wasn't looking forward to saying goodbye to Ron and Hermione. The end-of-term exams didn't seem to slow things down, eitherr. Charms was particularly difficult, and even Care of Magical Creatures was harder this year. Ever since Hagrid had got rid of the Streeler, he had them studying Fawkes the Phoenix. Even though Harry knew Fawkes, it turned out that Phoenixes had more magical properties than even he was aware of.   


The combined effect of studying constantly and anticipating missing his friends was that, before Harry knew it, he was standing on the stone steps of the castle, waving at Ron and Hermione as they walked to Hogsmeade station in the snow with the rest of the students returning home for the holidays.  


Harry trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower and flopped onto his bed. No Ron to play chess with, no Hermione to study with, no Neville to talk to. Even Crookshanks was gone. Harry couldn't stay in his room all day, he would go crazy. He decided to go looking for Sirius.  


He walked down to Professor Green's office and knocked on the door. No one answered. What if she was gone, but Sirius was still there? he wondered.  


He decided to call through the door. "It's me, Harry," he said tentatively. "No one's with me." Suddenly the door creaked open. Sirius was standing inside.  


"Come in, Harry," Sirius greeted him. "I just came inside, but I think Persephone's gone to take the students to the station. Hey, it's a bit cold in here, could I borrow your wand?"  


Harry pulled out his wand and handed it over. Sirius waved it at the fireplace, producing a roaring fire. "That's better," he mused, handing Harry his wand back. He looked pleased with himself. "Haven't had a wand in twelve years, and I still remember that spell. Not too bad, eh?"  


Harry and Sirius spent a very pleasant morning talking in front of the fire. They discussed Harry's classes, the upcoming O.W.L.s, Quidditch--and Harry told Sirius all about the night he and Neville had seen Professor Green's memories of the Longbottoms. When he reached the part where she hit Snape, Sirius laughed out loud. He was an even better audience than Ron.   


Outside the window, snow drifted lazily onto the grounds. They spent the remainder of the morning and the entire afternoon in conversation. When the shadows outside lengthened to envelop the grounds completely, Professor Green still hadn't returned. Harry noticed Sirius glancing alternately at a clock on the wall, and then outside, while they talked.  


At a quarter to six, Professor Green opened the door without knocking and walked inside, dusted from head to foot with snow. She took off her cloak and shook it out before she noticed Sirius and Harry sitting in two chairs before the fire.  


"Oh, hello. Hi there, Harry."   


"Hi, Professor Green."  


"Persephone," said Sirius, "where have you been? It's late. I started to worry."  


"Why?" she asked. She looked at him blankly.  


"Well, it's snowing pretty hard, it must be very cold. I just wondered, that's all--"  


"I had errands to run in town," she responded shortly.  


"I didn't know. You should have told me, I wouldn't have   
worried--"  


"No one asked you to worry about me." She returned his gaze coldly. There was an unmistakable note of resentment in her voice.  


Sirius simply nodded and looked into the fire. Suddenly Harry felt very uncomfortable; he tried to think of a good excuse to leave.  


Professor Green rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I'm sorry. Look, it's been a long day. I'm tired, I'm cold, and my feet hurt. I guess I'm a little cranky." She smiled apologetically. "I had some last minute Christmas shopping to do, that's all. Listen, why don't we all go downstairs and have something to eat?"  


Relieved, Harry stood up. Sirius smiled forgivingly. After he had taken his canine form, they walked together down to the Great Hall and dinner.  


It might have been the fact that the Yule Ball of the previous year had kept many students from spending Christmas with their families, and they were making up for it this year. Or it might have been that many families feared, like the Weasleys, that dangerous times lay ahead, and they wanted their children home as much as possible. Whatever the reason, there were even fewer students at Hogwarts over the winter holiday than usual. In fact, Harry found that he was the only Gryffindor. At Professor Dumbledore's request, he sat at the Slytherin table, with the rest of the staff and students. He looked around at the others. The only other students seated at the table were a Hufflepuff second-year and three   
Slytherins--Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.   


They had taken seats at the end of the table, as far as possible from Dumbledore, Green, Hagrid, and Harry. Harry wondered why the Malfoys hadn't brought Draco home for the holidays--the only other time Draco had spent Christmas at school was at his own request, and he didn't appear to be here willingly now. Harry chuckled at the expression of intense displeasure on Malfoy's face.   


All through the meal Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle alternately whispered amongst themselves and shot Harry malevolent looks. After everyone had eaten, Professor Green pulled out her guitar and played Christmas carols. Dumbledore sang and clapped loudly, while the rest of the table grudgingly mumbled along. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, however, abruptly left the table right in the middle of the chorus of "Jingle Bells".  


Secretly, Harry resolved to watch his back. Malfoy was unhappy and accompanied by two of the biggest fifth-years in the school. He might be tempted to entertain himself over the holiday by seeking out novel methods of torture and trying them out on Harry.

***

Each day of the Christmas holiday passed much like the first. Harry took a little time to study for O.W.L.s, but he mostly spent his days talking with Sirius and Hagrid. He and Hagrid had even participated in a couple of snowball fights against Sirius and Professor Green. These weren't quite fair fights, though, as Professor Green knew how to bewitch the snowballs to follow their targets, so that they were impossible to evade.   


Harry realized guiltily that he had been so busy with schoolwork that he hadn't yet been to see Dobby. He made up for this, however, by visting a few times before Christmas. Dobby still seemed to be enjoying life at Hogwarts. He was continued to keep an eye out for Winky, who was drinking less now, but still wore the same tattered blue blouse and skirt, which were so dirty they were nearly indistinguishable from the other House-Elves' old dishrags and pillowcases. Somehow, Harry suspected that this was the exact look Winky was going for.   


On Christmas morning Harry awoke to find a pile of presents heaped at the foot of his bed. Excitedly, he leapt up and tore into it. He unwrapped a set of three Practice Snitches from Ron ("For keeping top Seekers at the top of their game!" screamed the package), an emerald-green knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley, fudge brownies from Hagrid, and a new mokeskin wallet from Sirius. The Dursleys had also sent a present: a half-used spool of orange thread.   


At the bottom of the pile, Harry found a brand-new Transcription Quill from Hermione. He fingered it suspiciously, remembering the Quick Quotes Quill Rita Skeeter had used to twist his words into unrecognizability last year. He reached into his bookbag and grabbed a piece of parchment, which he set on his bed. Then he set the quill upon it. Very tentatively, he said, "Merry Christmas".  


In an untidy scrawl--just like Harry's own handwriting--the quill wrote, _Merry Christmas_.  


"Cool!" Harry exclaimed, forgetting that the quill was still transcribing his speech. _Cool!_, it wrote. He snatched it up happily and placed it in his pocket.   


Harry thought he would go downstairs and find Sirius before breakfast. He gathered up the tin of brownies and started down the staircase to the Common Room. A pang of guilt struck him when he remembered the wallet Sirius had given him. Aside from a handmade card, he didn't have any gifts for Sirius; after all, what do you give someone who spends most of his time as a dog? He wondered if Sirius might want to share the brownies with him, but then suddenly remembered hearing that chocolate wasn't good for dogs. He wondered if Animagi were different. Could Sirius eat chocolate as a dog without any negative effects? If Sirius ate a brownie in his human form, and then changed over, would the brownie hurt him if it were still in his system?   


Harry was lost in ruminations about the biology of Animagi as he climbed out of the portrait hole. A cold voice called out from behind him, pulling him out of his reverie.  


"Merry Christmas, Potter."   


Harry turned around. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the wall next to the portrait hole, lazily passing his wand from hand to hand. Crabbe and Goyle stood close by, but they looked tenser than Malfoy, as though they expected something to happen.  


This couldn't be good, Harry thought, but he decided to play along. "Merry Christmas. I'm just going downstairs to breakfast." It wasn't strictly true, but it was plausible. "See you later."  


"Not so fast. What've you got there?" Malfoy drawled, pointing his wand at the brownies. "_Accio tin_."  


The little tin of brownies flew out of Harry's hands, and Malfoy caught them with ease. He opened it, looked inside, and wrinkled his nose. "They look like charcoal. Who made them, that half-witted idiot Hagrid?"  


Crabbe and Goyle, however, looked very interested in the brownies. Malfoy rolled his eyes and handed them the tin.  


"Give it back, it's mine," Harry said, steeling himself for a fight. He had been afraid of an ambush by these three, but now that they were face to-face, all he felt was anger.  


Malfoy laughed. "Make me."  


Harry was furious. "You don't want to fight me," he heard himself saying, "You were afraid to duel our first year, and you're afraid now."   


Malfoy clenched his fists by his sides, an expression of rage reddening his pale face. "I am not. I'll prove it!"  


"Oh yeah?" Harry shouted. "You, Crabbe, and Goyle against me?" Harry paused and appeared to consider this. "I guess that's fair. After all, you could never beat me on your own."  


If Malfoy had looked angry before, it was nothing to the pure loathing Harry read on his face now. Harry nearly laughed out loud. Malfoy was so easy to bait.  


Upon hearing their names Crabbe and Goyle looked up from the brownies. Their hands and mouths were already covered in crumbs. Inwardly, Harry marveled at his good luck--neither he nor Sirius would have to eat Hagrid's cooking now.  


"You don't think so?" Malfoy said icily as he pointed his wand at Harry. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Go downstairs."  


Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, bewildered. Goyle said, "But you told us--"  


"GO!" Malfoy shouted. Hurriedly, they shuffled off down the corridor, taking the nearly empty brownie tin with them.   


Malfoy turned back to Harry, who quickly drew his own wand. "It's just you and me now, Potter." He snickered. "The great Harry Potter. Let's see how great you really are. On three."  


Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy and mentally prepared a hex. "Three," he called.  


"Two," Malfoy hissed.  


"ONE!" Harry shouted, but Malfoy had already begun muttering a curse. Harry had to abandon his own hex and managed to deflect the curse just in time, sending a blue bolt screaming into the opposite wall. Chips of stone flew off the wall in all directions.   


"_Arachnis!_" Harry yelled, and a stream of spiders shot out of his wand toward Malfoy. This time Malfoy was the one who deflected the hex, sending the spiders tumbling harmlessly down the corridor.   


While Harry was still trying to think of another curse, and before he had a chance to say anything, Malfoy screamed, "_Expelliarmus!_" Harry's wand flew off down the corridor, in the same direction the spiders had taken.  


Malfoy's gray eyes glittered maliciously as he held his wand out toward Harry. "The great Harry Potter! You don't look so great now, do you, Wonder Boy?"   


He chuckled, paused, and then articulated a curse slowly and deliberately. "_Deprivat--_"  


The distance between the two boys wasn't great, and Harry covered it in the amount of time that Malfoy took to utter three of the curse's the four syllables. Without thinking, he grabbed Malfoy's wand hand, placed his right foot behind Malfoy's, and struck him open-handed in the chest. It wasn't a hard blow, but the force of it was enough to knock the stunned Malfoy onto his back on the cold stone.  


"POTTER!" Professor McGonagall rushed up the corridor toward them. She was followed closely by Hagrid, holding the empty tin in one hand, and both Crabbe and Goyle by their collars in the other.  


"What on earth is going on here?"  


Harry tried to explain. "Professor, he threatened me. He wanted to duel--"  


"To DUEL?!" Professor McGonagall screeched, her eyes as wide as Galleons. "As you are both well aware, dueling is explicitly forbidden by the Hogwarts Code of Conduct! Twenty-five points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin, and detention for both of you!"  


Harry thought about protesting this, but the look in Professor McGonagall's eye deterred him. After all, he reasoned, he _had_ been dueling. Harry was just glad that it was over, and by the look on Malfoy's face, so was he.   


Malfoy didn't attempt to argue either; he simply looked up at Professor McGonagall and winced in pain.  


"Professor, I think my back's hurt. It's really painful." He let out a pitiful moan. Harry rolled his eyes.  


Thankfully, Professor McGonagall found this display as convincing as Harry did. She strode over to Malfoy, reached down, and yanked him up by his arm. "That will do, Mr. Malfoy! If you feel that you are so grievously injured, you may spend Christmas in the hospital wing and forego the holiday feast later today."  


Malfoy stopped moaning and returned her gaze sulkily.   


"That's what I thought. Now, you four can either come downstairs for breakfast or return to your respective dormitories. I won't have you roaming the corridors fighting all day." She glanced witheringly at Harry.  


Harry realized that he was missing his wand. He didn't want to anger her further, but he had to say something. "Professor, my wand," he said quietly, pointing to a spot several yards away where it lay on the stone floor, surrounded by scuttling black spiders. Professor McGonagall retrieved it and handed the wand to Harry indignantly.  


Hagrid finally let go of Crabbe and Goyle, and led the group back toward the Great Hall. Clearly attempting to preserve some semblance of dignity, Malfoy lifted his head and strode down the corridor. Harry followed. When they reached the entrance hall, he was relieved to see Malfoy turn in the direction of the Slytherins' dungeon Common Room, followed reluctantly by the still-hungry Crabbe and Goyle.   


Harry, Hagrid, and Professor McGonagall proceeded into the Great Hall, where Professors Green and Dumbledore were leading the mumbling staff in a rousing chorus of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen".

***

Author's Note: This is the revised version of this chapter (Harry got his wand back!). The next part is taking me a really, really long time to write, so I apologize in advance for the delay. I'm not going to post an ETA because I would surely miss it. :) 


	21. Detention

The remainder of the day passed pleasantly. After breakfast, Harry and the Hufflepuff boy accompanied Hagrid, Snuffles the dog, Professors Green, McGonagall, and Dumbledore, and some of the other staff members on a walk through Hogsmeade to admire the Christmas decorations. It was very cold outside, but Hogsmeade was very pretty, and by the time everyone gathered back at the castle for Christmas dinner, they were all in a fine mood. Professor McGonagall had seemed to forget about the morning's duel, and chatted amiably with Harry throughout the meal. Even Malfoy forgot to send hostile glances Harry's way, and occupied himself talking to Crabbe and Goyle instead.   


Just when Harry had grown used to the winter vacation--the slow pace of the days, having the Common Room to himself, being able to talk away the day with Hagrid or Sirius--it was over. He missed having so much time and space to himself, but seeing Ron and Hermione again made up for that. Hermione had had a wonderful holiday ("I had a lot of time to study for O.W.L.s!"), but Ron didn't seem to have enjoyed his much at all.  


"Dad and Percy got into a big argument about You-Know-Who," Ron informed them over breakfast on their first full day back at school. He took a slice of toast from the platter Hermione was offering him, and set the platter down on the table in front of Harry. "Then Mum and Penelope got mad at THEM for fighting ... it was awful. Plus, now Mum's all worried about Ginny playing Keeper on the Quidditch team. One broken collarbone, and you'd have thought Ginny was crippled for life! I think Mum would have forbidden Ginny to play at all if Dad and I hadn't taken up for her."  


Hermione swallowed a bite of toast and smiled sideways at Ron. "You took up for Ginny?"  


"Yeah," Ron said, as though Ginny playing Keeper were his idea. "Well, why shouldn't she play? Mum never had a problem with Charlie, Fred, or George playing, and she doesn't mind me being the reserve. Plus, she's always saying how Ginny's too shy and she needs to be involved in more school activities." He shrugged and continued eating, oblivious to the self-satisfied grin on Hermione's face.  


A brown barn owl with black-flecked feathers suddenly landed on Harry's right shoulder. It stuck out its left leg and hooted gruffly. Harry carefully unrolled the small piece of parchment, and the owl took flight again.  


Harry glanced at the parchment and let out a groan. "Detention," he mumbled. He had half-hoped that in the spirit of the season, Professor McGonagall would have let it slide.   


"What for?" asked Ron.  


"Harry!" Hermione glared at him indignantly. "What did you do?"  


He told them the story of his duel with Malfoy. Ron laughed, and Hermione stifled a giggle.   


"Well, as a prefect I'm supposed to disapprove of fighting. But all the same--you say he was flat on his back?" She chuckled and shook her head.   


"What's your detention?" asked Ron.  


"Professor Green's office, five o'clock tonight," Harry read. He looked up from the note. "Hey, that's not so bad."   


Ron snorted. "No kidding. She'll probably have you sharpening machetes or something." He stared at the far wall wistfully for a moment. "Cool. Say, do you think I could come, too?"  


"Most certainly not!" boomed the voice of Professor McGonagall, who had been passing behind Ron at that moment. She stopped and stared down at Harry sternly as she spoke to Ron. "Detention is not play time, Mister Weasley. Potter will not be accompanied by friends, nor will he be engaging in any activities that could be remotely considered--" she paused as though unsure how to enunciate the next word "--_cool_."  


They watched Professor McGonagall sweep out of the Great Hall and up the staircase toward her office.  


"I wonder what Green's having you do, then?" Hermione mused, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and pushing back from the table.  


"I don't know," Harry answered. He couldn't think of anything unpleasant that Professor Green might force him to do, except perhaps extra laps around the lake. And that wouldn't be so bad.

***

"Right on time. Come in." Professor Green opened the door to her office and pointed to the chair in front of her desk. Harry walked in and sat down. Sirius wasn't here; he must be running another errand for Dumbledore. Professor Green took a seat behind her desk and regarded him for a few seconds.  


Harry began to shift awkwardly in his seat. Finally, he couldn't take the silence anymore. "Um, Professor Green? Did you have some sort of detention for me?"  


She ignored the question. "Minerva told me what happened in the corridor between you and Mister Malfoy."  


"Oh." Harry thought he detected the slightest note of admiration in her voice. He wasn't sure whether to expect a lecture or congratulations. "Right."  


Professor Green put a finger to her lips thoughtfully. "Would you care to tell me what happened, in your own words? I'd like to hear it from you, if you don't mind."  


"Alright." Harry told her exactly what had happened--how Malfoy had been waiting for him in the corridor, how they had dueled, how Malfoy had unarmed and attempted to curse him, and how Harry had knocked him down just in time.  


When he had finished the story, Professor Green just stared at him in silence again. He was beginning to become irritated with her reticence when she spoke. "Interesting," was all she said, and that was more to herself than to him. "What made you think to do that, Harry? I mean, we haven't sparred at all in class yet."  


He shrugged. "You did show us those things though--how to disarm an opponent, and how to knock them down, I mean. I guess I just remembered them. Is it really that unusual?"  


"Yes. Actually, it is. You appear to have exceptionally good instincts." Her tone was flat, as though she were trying not to compliment him, but not quite succeeding.   


"It was all over before I knew it. I didn't really think at all." He shrugged again. He didn't know what else to say.   


"Well, no. I should think not. That's why you're here, after all," she responded briskly, snapping out of her reverie. She stood up, walked to a spot beside her desk, and knelt down. "Harry, look here."  


Harry craned his neck so that he could see around the edge of the desk. Professor Green had grasped the end of a large black trunk and was pulling it toward him. She set it down beside Harry's chair, so that he could see seven differently-shaped locks spaced across the opening. She pulled a large keyring out of her pocket.  


"I daresay you've seen a trunk like this before," she said as she placed a key in the first lock. "They're standard-issue for certain Ministry personnel." Harry remembered the end of last term, and the trunk where Dumbledore had found Mad-Eye Moody Stunned and cursed. He shivered.   


Professor Green wasn't watching him, however, as she opened the trunk's lid to reveal a pile of parchment rolls--hundreds of them. Still kneeling, she turned around to face him.  


"Trial notes, depositions, case files," she explained, "this is all the paperwork I've amassed over the last, oh, I'd say five years or so." She turned back to the trunk, which threatened to overflow with parchment. Harry wondered how many animals had donated their skins to produce the documents he saw before him just now.   


Professor Green grabbed a parchment roll at random and stood up. "As you may have guessed, I did not become an Auror to file paperwork." She wrinkled her nose in disdain. "But teachers have the privilege of forcing errant students to do those types of menial tasks for them." She grinned. "Harry, let me show you what I want you to do." She selected another key from the ring and placed it in the seventh lock. This time when she pulled back the lid, it was as though Harry were looking down into a large room. Torches in brackets lit its brown walls, and the floor was made from the same type of warm-hued, smooth stone as the walls were. The color of it made this room a little more cheerful than the pit-like chamber where Moody had been imprisoned--just a little.  


Professor Green placed one foot inside the trunk and climbed down a ladder placed against the nearest wall. "Come on," she called from inside.  


Harry followed. As he reached the bottom of the ladder, he stepped off and looked around. The room was very plain--besides the torches, its only remarkable feature was a network of cubby holes that covered the lower six feet of each wall.  


"What I want you to do is file, Harry." She pulled the first and seventh keys off the keyring, handed them to him, and pocketed the keyring. "All those documents you saw are public records--the Ministry has copies, but they still won't let me throw anything away." She sighed. "Anyway, they're very boring, so don't bother trying to read them. Just match the case number on each piece of parchment with the correct cubby hole. See?"   


Professor McGonagall had been right: there was nothing cool about this detention. It would be tedious and boring; on the other hand, it could have been much worse.  


For the next ten minutes, Professor Green showed him how to file parchment rolls. Finally, she glanced at her watch. "Oh, it's nearly six. I've got to meet the third-years out by the lake," she said, handing him an armful of parchment rolls that she had been filing and heading for the ladder.   


"You're leaving?"  


"Well, yes. You can handle this, can't you? I'll be back in couple of hours to see how you're doing."  


Harry didn't fancy spending two hours alone in the spooky torchlit room, but he tried to look nonchalant. "Sure."  


Professor Green climbed up the ladder. "Oh, and Harry," she called down to him, "remember, only the first and last locks. Other than that--"  


"I know, I know," Harry mumbled, "don't touch anything."  


She winked and disappeared from view.  


Two hours later, Harry was stiff, tired, sweaty, and hungry. His muscles were sore from climbing up and down the ladder carrying the awkward bundles of parchment. To make matters worse, he had barely made a dent in the heap of parchment rolls in the first compartment of the trunk.   


He glanced at his watch: it was a quarter to eight. In fifteen minutes Professor Green would come back and, hopefully, take him to the Great Hall for a late dinner with the third-years. He took the last parchment roll of the bundle he'd been filing and placed it in a cubby hole near the floor. Slowly, he sat down on the brown stone. He stretched his arms and yawned. As he did so, a stray piece of parchment laying on the floor near the ladder caught his eye. Figuring he must have dropped it during one of his trips down the ladder, Harry got up and moved toward the corner where the parchment sat. He knelt and grabbed it, but when he tried to pick it up, it wouldn't budge--one corner was lodged in a crack in the stone where the wall met the floor. But that spot was obscured by shadow, so Harry had to feel the edges of the parchment and try to work it out. Having made no progress after a minute of this, he nearly gave up. Suddenly, he looked up and saw a torch sitting in a bracket on the wall nearby.   


Cursing his stupidity, he stood up and pulled the torch away. The bracket came with it.  


"Great," he muttered to himself. The bracket had broken away from the wall completely. He supposed he would have to fix this somehow--a charm might do it. He was preparing to blow the torch out and set it down on the floor when he unexpectedly caught sight of something inside the crack in the wall where the torch bracket had been. He lifted the torch to illuminate the crack.  


Inside sat a small, very old-looking scroll. It wasn't off-white, or even slightly yellowed, like the rolls of parchment he'd been filing all night. Instead, it was a deep golden-brown; it looked as though it might turn to dust if Harry touched it.  


But his curiosity got the better of him. Carefully, Harry reached in and pulled out the scroll. It was tougher than it looked, he noted with relief. He held it up to the torchlight.  


The visible portion of the scroll was covered in very tiny writing in a language that Harry didn't recognize; it might have been runes, or possibly a foreign alphabet. He remembered that Hermione was taking Ancient Runes and wondered if she could read it. After puzzling over the scroll for a moment, he placed it gingerly in his pocket. When Professor Green got back, he would ask her what it was and how it had gotten there. In the meantime, he would use a simple Fastening Charm to fix the torch bracket--that, at least, was one charm he'd been able to master last term.  


She returned later than either of them had expected, apologizing for her tardiness.  


"The fighting between the Houses, you know. It's getting really bad. A Ravenclaw boy tried to trip a Slytherin." She made her way down the ladder, panting. Her face was flushed from being out in the cold. "I had to take the Ravenclaw up to Professor Flitwick. Well," she remarked pleasantly as she looked around at the newly-filled holes in the walls, "I must say, you've made a great deal more progress than I expected! You must be hungry. Come down and have a bite."  


Harry thought for a moment. Earlier he'd been hungry, but now he was just sleepy and sore. "Actually, Professor, I think I'd rather go to bed."  


"Suit yourself," she answered, and motioned to him to climb the ladder. When they got back up to her office, she found the two keys she had given Harry on the floor near the trunk. "Thanks, Harry. With any luck, I can get that Ravenclaw to finish what you've started later in the week. Goodnight."  


Yawning, he mumbled a faint goodnight and left Professor Green's office for Gryffindor Tower.  


It wasn't until he changed for bed that he realized the old scroll was still in his pocket.

***

Author's Note: Yes, believe it or not, this is all going somewhere. It's just taking forever to get there. :) Thanks to everyone for your kind and helpful reviews, especially to R. J. Anderson and L.T. Clunas for advising, encouraging, cajoling, and threatening me to finish this story. 


	22. The Scroll

Author's Note: At long last. Sorry about my lengthy absence; it is attributable to many things, including a vacation and losing my job last week. But that just gives me more time to write, right? ;) Thanks to all my reviewers for your patience. 

I don't expect the next chapter to take as long as this one did. But if it does, please just chalk it up to the job search process taking over my life. It's more complimentary of me than if you just chalk it up to me being a slacker.

Assume all the usual disclaimers.

***

Harry awoke early the next morning, but he did not get up at once. Instead, he stared at the hangings surrounding his four-poster, trying to decide how to handle the problem of the scroll. He remembered with a pang of guilt how Professor Green had warned him not to touch anything, and how that little admonishment had slipped his mind as soon as he'd seen the scroll. He hoped that he hadn't inadvertently done any damage- but that certainly didn't appear to be the case. Then he wondered whether the scroll might possibly be cursed, and whether he may have accidentally brought some unknown blight upon himself. Well, he concluded, there was only one way to find out.  


He would ask Hermione first. She was the closest person to him who was at all likely to tell him what was written on the scroll. Maybe, he thought hopefully, he could even persuade her not to tell anyone else about the matter unless it was absolutely necessary.  


Satisfied, Harry dressed and woke Ron.  


"Come down to the Common Room after you've dressed," Harry whispered as Ron stared over at him groggily, "I have something to show you."  


Ron shot him a curious look, but Harry refused to say any more with Dean, Seamus, and Neville beginning to wake up. He left Ron sitting upright in a state of sleepy bewilderment, and made his way downstairs.  


Hermione was sitting in a chair before the fire, apparently attempting to steal a few spare minutes before breakfast to check her Arithmancy homework. As Harry walked toward her, she looked up.  


"Oh, hello," she said brightly. "Are we going to breakfast? Where's Ron?"  


Harry looked down at her seriously and spoke in a low voice. "Hermione, I need to show you something." He looked around. Most of the Gryffindors were either still asleep or eating breakfast, but a few sat around the Common Room studying or finishing last-minute homework before their morning classes.  


Hermione frowned, but nodded. "Alright."  


"Not here." Harry grabbed her shoulder and ushered her into a corner, where they both sat. Ron rushed over from the entrance to the dormitory staircase, having obviously dressed in haste. He was still barefoot, and carried an old pair of socks that had been darned repeatedly. He took a seat next to Hermione.  


"Harry, what is it?" he asked, beginning to pull on the socks.  


Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the ancient-looking scroll. Ron peered closely at it. Hermione gasped quietly.  


"Where did you get this? It looks so old." She took it and gently turned it over in her hands, taking in the brownish hue of the parchment and the cracked edges.   


"I found it last night during detention, in--" he hesitated, anticipating Hermione's reaction, "in Professor Green's trunk."  


"And she let you take it?" She looked up at him in disbelief.  


For a second he considered letting Hermione think this, but then he imagined her mentioning the scroll to Professor Green in passing after a class, or during dinner. "Eh--no, not exactly." Making sure to stress how tired and sore he'd been the previous night, he told her and Ron how he had come to find the scroll and leave Professor Green's office with it. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly.  


"Never mind that right now, Hermione. Look at the writing. Do you recognize it?"  


Displeased as Hermione was with Harry's indiscretion, her interest in the scroll prevailed. She began to examine the writing. She peered closely at the tiny script for a minute, then looked up at them. "No. It's not written in any kind of script I've ever seen, and I've seen just about every type of rune there is. So it's definitely not British, and I'd be willing to bet it's not even European."   


Harry was a bit disappointed to hear this. Hermione looked back at the scroll. "I'm no expert on Middle Eastern alphabets, but it looks Semitic to me, although I'm pretty sure it isn't Hebrew. Hang on," she said suddenly, pointing down the right side of the scroll. "Look at these little glyphs here. They're different from the other characters, see?"  


Harry and Ron looked closer. She was right: their similarity to one another made the letters of the strange alphabet easily discernible. Set off from the writing, running down the right-hand side of the scroll, were an assortment of odd little pictures that looked a bit like hieroglyphics. One consisted of two wavy vertical lines; one resembled a crown; another looked like an eye. Ron looked at Harry quizzically.   


"Have you looked at the rest of it, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry shook his head, and she began to unroll the parchment slowly.  


The scroll was longer than they had expected, and they glanced down at each little picture as it came into view. Suddenly Hermione gasped and dropped the scroll onto the floor.  


"What?" Ron asked urgently. "What is it?" Neither he nor Harry had seen what had startled her.   


Hermione stared intently at Harry. "Hermione!" he said, irritated. "What's wrong? What are you staring at me like that for--" At once he realized she wasn't staring him in the eye. She was looking at his forehead, at the lightning-shaped scar situated there.  


Slowly, she picked up the scroll and unrolled it to the spot where they had left off. There, below a picture that looked like a hand, was a little lightning bolt.  


"Well, that could mean anything," Ron said uncertainly, sneaking a quick glance at Harry's scar.  


"Look at it, Ron!" She pointed at the glyph. "It's exactly the same. See how many times it zigzags? And the little curve on the bottom?"  


Looking at the scroll, Harry knew she was right. He didn't need a mirror to compare the glyph to his scar; he knew the scar by heart, and the glyph was an exact replica.   


Ron looked from the scroll back up to Harry, saying nothing. Harry's heart was pounding. "What does it mean?"  


"I've no idea," Hermione answered, frowning. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Suddenly she opened them again. "Maybe it tells what types of scars different curses leave when they backfire."  


Ron shook his head. "But remember, Mad-Eye Moody told us that no one's ever survived the Killing Curse before. How would anyone know what type of scar it would leave, if it never left a scar before Harry's?"  


Harry nodded; Ron was right. "Hermione, keep unrolling it. What else is on the scroll?"  


Remembering she still held the scroll in her hand, she held it out between them and unrolled it quickly. Several little pictures came into view and disappeared into the top roll before Harry, Ron, and Hermione reached the end of the parchment.  


What they saw there made their blood run cold.  


It was a picture of a tiny skull, with a snake protruding grotesquely from its mouth, like a tongue. Ron gasped. Hermione put her hand to her mouth. Harry gaped, puzzled.  


"The Dark Mark."   


Just then Angelina Johnson appeared behind Hermione. She had crept up so noiselessly that the three of them jumped in unison. Angelina laughed.  


"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything! Harry and Ron, I wanted to have a word with you about Quidditch practice."  


"Oh, right," Ron said, eyeing Hermione as she surreptitiously pocketed the scroll.  


"Well, after the--er--_match_ against Slytherin--" Angelina glanced sideways as though she actually wanted to call the disastrous match something more fitting "--I was thinking we ought to practice more."  


"We're already practicing three times a week," Harry put in.  


Hermione looked alarmed. "Yes, they've got O.W.L.s in a few months, they need time to study."  


Angelina smiled at Hermione politely but addressed Ron and Harry. "Yes, well, I was thinking it couldn't hurt to have one more practice a week. I've spoken with Katie, Alicia, Fred, and George, and Friday nights work best for us."  


Harry looked at Ron and grinned. Friday was the night Professor Green had set for their run. He wondered whether they'd be able to get out of it...  


"But we've got to meet Professor Green Friday nights," Hermione protested.  


Ron rolled his eyes.   


Angelina considered this. "I'll talk to her for you. I'm sure we could work something out. The seventh-years meet her on Thursday nights; you two could probably just run with us."  


"Alright," Harry replied brightly. Ron grunted his assent.  


"Right then, I'll let you know what she says." With that, Angelina disappeared through the portrait hole.  


"Thanks, Hermione. We might've gotten out of running if you hadn't said anything." Ron stared at her crossly.  


"Oh, really, Ron. As if Professor Green wouldn't have noticed you missing." Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "And speaking of Professor Green." She lowered her voice and focused on Harry. "Harry, you've got to get this scroll back to her. It could be really important to her, or it could have some Dark curse on it. Either way, you can't keep it."  


Harry took a deep breath. He had seen this coming. "Look, nothing bad's happened to me yet. I really want to find out what's written on it--" But Hermione wasn't buying it; she simply glared at him. He knew she was right; there was no way he could keep the scroll.  


"Well, we can ask her what it says. If she doesn't know, I'm sure she'll take it to Professor Thorne to figure out. Either way," Hermione's eyes narrowed, "the best way to find out what's on this scroll is to give it back to Professor Green."  


Although she made sense, Harry couldn't help having reservations about giving the scroll back. His scar, and the Dark Mark--what could they have in common? If Green didn't know about the scroll being hidden away in the trunk, that was alright, but if she did... Harry wondered why she wouldn't tell him what she knew. He was certain that the lightning glyph on the scroll had something to do with his scar. This scroll could tell him something about himself. He had to find out what that was.

***

"What's this?" Professor Green stared down at the little scroll that Harry had just placed on the palm of her hand.  


"Don't you recognize it?" Hermione asked.  


"No. Should I?" Very carefully, Professor Green placed the scroll on her desk. Slowly she unrolled it and inspected the strange writing.  


Harry took a deep breath and began to explain. He told her exactly how he had come to find the scroll in her trunk, and how he had absentmindedly carried it up to the dormitory in his pocket. She gasped, glanced back down at the scroll, and addressed Harry sternly.  


"Harry! I'm very surprised at you. Don't you realize that it could be cursed? And you exposed your friends to it as well," she looked around Harry at Hermione and Ron. "I'm extremely disappointed in your judgment. I'm afraid I will have to deduct fifteen points from Gryffindor for this.  


"However, you did decide to bring it back--a wise choice, and probably not an easy one to make, considering that you didn't know whether I'd ever discover that the scroll was missing. I think that should earn you back five points." She paused thoughtfully.   


Hermione nudged Harry in the ribs and shot him a very self-satisfied smile. Obnoxious as this was, Harry knew that Hermione had made the correct decision, and he was grateful. Still Professor Green mused quietly, and just when Harry, Ron, and Hermione began to wonder whether she was ever going to continue, she clasped her hands together, turned toward them, and spoke. "In light of your decision to return this scroll to me, I think we can consider the matter closed. However, I sincerely hope that you will pay more heed to my instructions in the future. At some point, your life may depend on it."  


Harry nodded somberly, grateful to be receiving only a reprimand. He didn't know whether he would have been able to stand two detentions in the same week.  


"You don't know what's written on it, then?" Ron asked.  


Professor Green shook her head and stared back at the scroll. "No, I'm afraid not. I always was bad with runes and foreign scripts, to be quite honest." She raised her head and looked at the three of them. "I think this is a problem for Professor Thorne."  


Professor Thorne's office was located on the fourth floor of the castle, near the library. With Harry, Ron, and Hermione in tow, Professor Green marched up to his door and knocked.  


The door opened to reveal a tall, reedy wizard, with gray hair and a moustache, holding a pipe. Harry had seen him before, in the corridors and the Great Hall. He figured the man must be about the same age as Professor McGonagall.   


"Ah, Professor Green and Miss Granger." He nodded at them, then noticed Harry and Ron. "Hello, there. I don't believe we've met."   


"Professor, these are my friends," Hermione explained, "Ron Weasley and--"  


"Why, Harry Potter, of course," Professor Thorne interrupted, his eyes performing the familiar flicker up to the scar on Harry's forehead. He shook Ron's and Harry's hands, smiling.  


"Pleased to make your acquaintances, Mister Weasley and Mister Potter. I am Professor Julius Thorne, Master of Foreign Languages and Scripts at Hogwarts." He turned and addressed Professor Green and Hermione again.  


"Well, I must say, this is quite a surprise. To what do I owe   
the--"  


Without waiting for him to finish, Professor Green held up the scroll. Professor Thorne instantly froze, and his eyes grew wide.  


"My dear, what is this?" he whispered, taking it from her.  


"Professor, shall we step inside your office?" Professor Green asked.  


"Oh yes, of course, where are my manners?" Professor Thorne answered absent-mindedly, gesturing in the direction of his office. Professor Green ushered Harry, Ron, and Hermione inside; Professor Thorne followed slowly, never looking up from the scroll.   


His office was a rectangular room, like every other teacher's office that Harry had seen at Hogwarts, except Dumbledore's. This room looked like it could belong to any teacher, except for the bookshelves completely covering the walls--and the ceiling. Harry and Ron craned their necks to stare in amazement at the shelves directly above them; their contents by all rights should have slid right off and fallen on their heads.   


"They're charmed, of course," Hermione intoned quietly, noticing the boys' surprised looks.  


Every shelf in the room was full of all kinds of texts: old, dusty books, parchment manuscripts, inscribed stone tablets, carved fragments of wood--even a few yellowed scrolls like the one Harry had found. But judging from Professor Thorne's reaction, none of these shelves contained a scroll quite like the one the scholar now held in his hands.   


"Good heavens," Professor Thorne whispered, moving to his desk and setting the scroll down upon it. He picked up a magnifying glass and began to inspect the scroll more closely. "Where did you get this?"  


"Harry found it in my trunk last night--I had him in there doing detention," Professor Green explained. "It was hidden in there; I had never seen it before."  


"Do you have any idea who put it there?"  


Professor Green shook her head. "The only thing I can figure is, it must have belonged to the person who owned the trunk before me."  


"Another Auror?" Professor Thorne turned the scroll over and began to inspect the back.  


"I assume so." Professor Green shrugged. "I was never told who the trunk belonged to before it came into my possession."  


After a long pause, Professor Thorne finally looked up from the scroll. He placed the magnifying glass on the desk and spoke hesitantly, almost anxiously. "My dear, had you considered that this may be a matter for the Ministry to solve?"  


"Yes. But considering that Harry, Ron, and Hermione have already been exposed to the scroll, I'd rather not wait eight to ten weeks for some Ministry bureaucrat to tell me whether it's cursed. And besides, we don't even know that the Ministry knows what it is; it might have belonged to some Auror who didn't know what to do with it ... Though I can't say why he would have stuffed it into a crack in the wall like that."  


Professor Thorne started, obviously horrified by the idea of the decrepit scroll being "stuffed" anywhere.  


"Besides," Professor Green continued matter-of-factly, "My grandfather says there's no one in Britain more knowledgeable about foreign languages than yourself. If the Ministry doesn't know what it is, I suppose they'd just send it to you to translate anyway."  


Professor Thorne relaxed and spoke with a regal air, gratified by the compliment. "Yes, quite so. Well, I have drawn a few conclusions about this little scroll." He paused dramatically, looking around at them all. "It's definitely not British, and it's quite old--possibly as old as several thousand years, if it's had a Preservation Charm put on it."  


Ron rolled his eyes at Harry. "It's not British, and it's old," he whispered. "Good thing we asked an expert."  


Professor Thorne didn't appear to hear Ron's remark. Hermione, who had been making a visible effort to hold her tongue, could remain silent no longer.  


"Professor, I was noticing that the characters look very much like Hebrew, but not exactly. And did you see the glyphs lined up along the right-hand side? They're not a part of this alphabet, are they?"   


Professor Thorne beamed down at Hermione, who looked a bit breathless but intensely relieved to have said her piece. "Miss Granger is quite perceptive--but that's no surprise, is it?" He looked up at the rest of them. "Yes, I do think this is an ancient Semitic script, but I'm not sure exactly which. I have to admit, my specialty is Celtic runes, not ancient Middle Eastern languages." He looked back down at the scroll and carefully began to unroll it. "But I think that with a little research I can get to the bottom of--"   


He hesitated as he saw the Dark Mark at the very end of the scroll. A glimmer of recognition appeared in his eyes. "I see." He glanced quickly at Harry, and then at Professor Green. "Yes, I think it wise that we attempt to decipher this here, as quickly as possible. I have a colleague at Timshel University in Tel-Aviv; I'll consult with him by owl as quickly as possible."  


"Please, sir," Hermione said timidly. "I was wondering if you might allow me to help you. As a kind of extra-credit assignment."  


Professor Thorne frowned down at her. "Miss Granger, don't be ridiculous. Your marks in my class are perfect."  


Hermione grinned, reddening. "All the same, I'm very interested in this scroll. We're convinced it says something significant about ... at least one of us."  


Professor Thorne scowled down at the scroll thoughtfully. "Well, it is a rather long document, and I suspect it will take a while to decode. It's tedious work. So ... yes, I suppose I would be grateful for your help." He looked down again at Hermione. "Thank you, Miss Granger."  


As Harry headed off for Divination class with Ron a few minutes later, he was excited at the prospect of getting some answers about the scroll, but also a bit disappointed; he hadn't expected it to take so long. He would have to be patient. 


	23. Valentines

That January at Hogwarts was unusually mild; no new snow fell to cover the remnants of December's blizzard. The students were grateful for this, as it made walking to the greenhouses and Herbology class much easier and more comfortable than in past years.  


In the first class of the term, Professor Sprout informed the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that they would be tending hemlock. Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other quizzically.  


"Erm, Professor?" Hermione asked, raising her hand. "Isn't hemlock used exclusively for poisons?"  


"Yes, Miss Granger," Professor Sprout answered, handing each table of students its own bunch of plants. "Professor Snape wants to poison the fourth-years again."  


Harry was taken aback for a moment. Then he remembered last year's Potions lessons on antidotes.  


"I'll wager none of you has forgotten how to brew an antidote, eh?" She raised her eyebrows and looked around the room as the students nodded knowingly.  


Harry had thankfully missed the Potions lesson last year in which Snape had tried to poison a student--if Harry hadn't been called out of class to have his photograph taken with the other Triwizard Tournament champions, he was certain that Snape would have tried to poison him. As he and Ron inspected and repotted a hemlock plant, Harry realized that he had never heard who _had_ been poisoned.   


"Ron," he whispered. "Who did Snape poison last year?"  


Ron gave him a puzzled look. "You were there."  


"No, I wasn't. Remember? I had to have my picture taken for the Tournament. Hermione wasn't there either, she was having her teeth fixed. And you and I weren't ... er ... speaking then."  


Beneath his freckles, Ron's face reddened. "Oh, right. Well, I guess with you and Hermione gone, it was just a question of who Snape hates most, wasn't it? I suppose the contest was between me and Neville." He grinned. "Lucky for Neville, I won."  


"He poisoned _you_?"  


"Yeah." Ron tried to suppress a chuckle. "You should've seen the look on the slimy bat's face when I took my antidote and nothing happened."  


Harry smiled. He could just imagine Snape's look of malicious triumph as he had handed Ron the poison, and his sneer of angry disappointment when Ron's antidote had worked.  


"I guess we've found another thing you're good at."  


Ron snorted derisively. "Yeah, Potions. And I'm in such good company, too. Me and the Slytherins."  


But the more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that Ron _had_ become quite good at Potions--at least as good as Hermione. The three of them had just been too busy trying to avoid Malfoy's whining accusations and Snape's hateful glare to notice.  


"No, seriously, Ron. Remember the Shrinking Potion in third year?"  


Ron scowled as he packed potting soil around the roots of the last hemlock plant, a particularly large one. "Yeah. Snape gave Neville's potion to Trevor, and he turned into a tadpole. What about it?"  


"You prepared most of the ingredients for Malfoy's Shrinking Potion- do you remember how it turned out?"  


Ron stared off through the transparent greenhouse wall, concentrating. "Pretty well, I guess. Better than mine, since he got all my best daisy roots, the sniveling b--"  


"Alright, chaps," Professor Sprout called. "By now you should have finished repotting your plants. I'll come round and collect them again. You may as well get your things together, there's not much time left before the end of class."   


At that moment, the bell boomed from the castle. Harry, Ron, and the rest of the class collected their things and left the greenhouse for lunch.

***  


"I hope you all had a restful holiday, because you're going to be working like Nifflers from now on."  


The Gryffindor fifth-years had assembled in the Great Hall for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term. They felt more like they were outside, though, with the ceiling glowing a stunning shade of sapphire, and the sun's likeness beginning to sink from its apex in the exact center of the blue expanse. Although the weather outside was nice for January, it was still too cold to allow them to resume their lessons on the Quidditch pitch. So they had assembled here in the Great Hall, with its tables and chairs cleared away against the walls, and a Cushioning Charm placed on the floor--mostly, everyone thought, for Neville's benefit.  


At least, they thought so until Professor Green continued speaking.  


"I know you've all been anxious to begin sparring," she said as she eyed each one of them in turn, "but I wanted to make sure you had a proper foundation in the martial arts first. Now, I think you're ready."  


A frenzy of murmurs broke out among the students. Ron looked excitedly at Harry. "You're going down, Potter," he whispered, grinning madly.  


Only Neville seemed the least bit apprehensive. He smiled at the other students nervously, as though pre-emptively asking for mercy. Professor Green began moving among the students, pairing them off.  


"Right, then: Neville and Ron, Lavender and Parvati, Seamus and Dean, Harry and Hermione. Fighting stances, everyone." 

Disappointed, Ron left Harry and faced Neville. Hermione and Harry squared off, hands raised, feet apart, just as they had been taught the previous term. She looked determined: not the least bit worried, but intent and focused. Harry noticed that Neville's apprehension seemed to have eased now that he was paired with Ron; apparently, he expected Ron to go easy on him. Ron, however, had developed anxieties of his own.   


"I'm worried about what he might accidentally do to me--or to himself!" he whispered to Harry as Neville looked eagerly to Professor Green, awaiting her instructions. Harry shrugged and chuckled.   


"It won't be so bad," he whispered back. "What's the worst he could do?"  


Ron frowned fiercely and opened his mouth to reply. Unfortunately, Professor Green chose that exact moment to address him.  


"Ron, pay attention!" she called. "Your posture's completely off. You're supposed to stand with your feet apart, like this--yes, that's right." Professor Green backed away from Ron and surveyed the Gryffindors.  


From behind him, Harry heard Dean Thomas say, very solemnly: "I know Kung Fu."   


The entire class dissolved in giggles.  


"This is not a joke," Professor Green barked, staring at them sternly. The laughter promptly ceased. "Now, Harry, Parvati, Ron, and Dean," she called out, pointing to each student as she spoke his or her name, "you will be the aggressors. When I signal, you will approach your opponents and attempt to trip them." Ron shot a final, pleading look at Hermione and Harry, then gave up and turned exasperatedly to Neville. Professor Green took another look around the room, and said, "Let's see what you remember from last term."   


With that, she pulled the silver whistle out of her pocket and blew it. The shrill note echoed through off the stone walls and floor, and the aggressors lurched forward. Harry wasted no time, quickly closing the distance between himself and Hermione. He placed his right foot behind hers, and attempted to push her backward.   


But Hermione was ready for him. Just as soon as Harry had planted his foot behind her, she stretched out her right arm and swiftly placed him in a headlock, knocking him off-balance. He teetered in front of her for a split second, then landed flat on the stone floor.  


Harry was stunned. He remembered how easily he had beaten Malfoy. He had presumed that defeating Hermione would be just as easy--but he had presumed too much.   


Professor Green knelt near Harry's head, smiling wrily. "Not as easy as you thought, eh? Not everyone's as ... slow to learn as Malfoy is. Here," she held out her hand to help him up, "try again."  


He did. He and Hermione spent the next hour trying to trip each other, and Harry quickly learned to anticipate her moves. By the end of the class period, Hermione had spent a considerable amount of time on the floor. Longer, in fact, than Harry had.  


A short distance away, Ron and Neville were taking turns knocking each other onto the floor and, by all appearances, enjoying themselves immensely. Nearby, Seamus was standing over a prone Dean Thomas, smiling triumphantly. Parvati and Lavender both appeared quite disheveled and unhappy--somehow they had both ended up on the floor simultaneously.  


"Good work today," Professor Green told them all just before class ended. She clasped her hands together and looked around with an expression of approval. "Remember what you've learned. In a few more weeks, it'll really get interesting."  


Ten minutes later, the entire class was making its way up the stone staircase, panting, covered in sweat, and in desperate need of a bath.   


"I let him throw me a few times," Ron whispered to Harry. He eyed Neville, several steps ahead of them on the landing, and safely out of earshot. "I figured it would be more fun that way."   


Hermione looked back disapprovingly. "Ron, you shouldn't do that! How will he ever learn if you just let him win?"  


Ron rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Hermione, he wouldn't learn anything sitting in the hospital wing with a broken arm."  


Hermione sighed indignantly, but she had to concede the point.  


"Hermione, you surprised me," Harry said, and meant it. "That headlock was brilliant."  


"Oh, that." She grinned. "Thanks. But after the first ten minutes, you had my number. I'm going to have to learn to think more quickly if I'm going to have any hope of beating you next class."  


"Hopefully you won't get the chance," Ron put in. "_I_ want to fight Harry next class. Hermione, you fight Neville. It'd give you the chance to make him _learn_ something." 

Over the next few days, Harry found that Angelina was as good as her word. She had spoken with Professor Green and secured permission for both Harry and Ron to run with the seventh-years on Thursdays and train with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team on Friday nights.   


Harry rather enjoyed running with the seventh-years, who gave him more competition than his fellow fifth-years had. In the first run of the term, he was a little surprised to find himself finishing third, behind a very tall Ravenclaw boy and Bernard, one of the Gryffindors who had tried out for Keeper with Ginny.  


Ron, on the other hand, didn't enjoy the run at all.  


"I'm _freezing_--how cold is it out here, anyway? And those goons nearly ran me over," he panted as they headed up to the Great Hall, pointing discreetly at a trio of Slytherins. Harry just smiled and shook his head.   


The seventh-years entered the Hall and took seats at the Slytherin table, just as the fifth-years did every Friday night. And, just like the fifth-years, the Slytherins sat at one end of the table, while everyone else sat at the other. Apparently Draco Malfoy didn't have to be present in order for malevolent looks to pass between the Slytherins and members of the other Houses. If anything, the tensions among the seventh-years were worse than in Harry's and Ron's year.  


"Don't pay any attention to them," Lee Jordan said over dessert. He had noticed Harry's sidelong glances toward the Slytherin end of the table. "They're just jealous because they know we're going to win the Quidditch Cup this year."  


A few seats away, Angelina snorted into her custard. "Lee, did you _watch_ our last match? Or was your mouth just running while your brain was on holiday, as usual?" Everyone who heard her comment laughed, including Harry and Ron.  


Lee smiled at her. "No need for such bitter mockery, m'dear. I have a good feeling about this season, that's all." He reached down to the floor and began fiddling with something Harry couldn't see. Harry stared at Lee curiously, until he pulled up what appeared to be a regular Muggle guitar. "Just for that, I am going to sing you a song, Angelina."  


Angelina looked at him with mock horror. "Oh, no! Anything but that! I take it back."  


"Too late!" With that, Lee began strumming and ad-libbing a very silly song: 

I know a girl named Angelina.  
She's captain of the Quidditch team-a.  
Her feet are big, her hair is green-a,  
And she's not nice but very mean-a.

She goes out with a boy named Fred.  
He's short and stout, his hair is red.  
He took her by the hand and said--

At this point, Professor Green very wisely cut in.   


"Oh, Lee, is that it?" From her spot at the head of the table, she reached for Lee's guitar. Reluctantly, he gave up his song and handed the guitar over the heads of several wary Hufflepuffs.  


"Yeah, my dad gave it to me for Christmas." He smiled proudly.  


Professor Green strummed a few chords, then held the guitar at arm's length, admiring it. "Gorgeous. You'll be playing this one at the dance, then?"  


"Yeah."  


Harry and Ron cast wary glances at each other. "Dance?" Ron asked tentatively, as though he were afraid that a terrible fear was about to be confirmed.  


"Oh, yes," Professor Green answered, handing the guitar back to Lee as the Hufflepuffs dodged and ducked apprehensively. "A Valentine's Day dance. It was my idea, I thought it might help to ... ease some of the tensions that have developed between the Houses this year." She glanced quickly at the Slytherins, who were just standing up to leave. "Professor Dumbledore is going to announce it any day."  


Ron sighed heavily. Harry had developed a knot in his stomach and suddenly lost all interest in his blackberry pie. Neither one of them had forgotten the social disaster that had been the previous year's Yule Ball. They had managed to come out of the experience alive, but not before Harry had humiliated himself in front of Cho Chang, and Ron and Hermione had exchanged several unfriendly words at an elevated volume.  


Later, they walked through the corridors toward the Gryffindor common room, lost in thought.   


"If I don't ask Hermione this year, I don't reckon I'll ever hear the end of it," Ron muttered. Harry suppressed the urge to laugh.   


"If you don't want to ask her, don't ask her."  


"Right. Well, you know ... I guess I might as well. It would be better than not going at all. I mean, why not? Right?" Ron was making an extravagant effort to sound offhand, which just intensified Harry's urge to laugh.  


"You'll go, won't you?" They had reached the portrait hole, and Ron had turned to face Harry.  


"Me?"  


"Come on, Harry! Please? It would be so much more fun with you there. It could be the four of us--you can ask Cho!"  


"Right," Harry answered sarcastically.   


"No, really, I bet she'd go with you this year, since--"  


Ron stopped himself, but they both knew what he was going to say next. _Since Cedric's not here to ask her._ Harry winced involuntarily. Ron quickly changed the subject.  


"But she likes you, doesn't she? I mean, hasn't she always been nice to you?"  


Harry thought about this for a moment. Ron had a point; Cho had always been kind to him, even when most of the school believed he had illegally entered himself into the Triwizard Tournament. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind going to a Valentine's dance with Cho.  


This time it was his turn to try to sound casual. "Okay, I guess I can try to ask her. I mean, might as well. Whatever."

***

"Our next match is with Hufflepuff," Angelina remarked as the Gryffindor Quidditch team sat in the locker room before practice the following night. "Now, they're not likely to try Slytherin's roughhouse tactics, but we've got to have a defensive strategy to counter it, just in case. Harry, you're Plan A. If you can get the Snitch before the other team has a chance to score many goals with the Quaffle, no amount of bullying can save them."  


Angelina wasn't as long-winded as Oliver Wood, but she was close. Harry didn't mean to tune her out, but at the moment he was far more interested in putting together a strategy for asking Cho to the dance.   


Just as Professor Green had promised, Dumbledore had announced the dance to the students that morning at breakfast. The girls had looked around excitedly, while the boys--especially the younger ones--had simply shrugged or shot each other puzzled glances, clearly not understanding what all the fuss was about.   


Hermione had listened to the announcement with interest, but said nothing to either Harry or Ron about it.   


"Cat's out of the bag now. We'd better say something soon," Ron had whispered confidentially. Harry had nodded. But remembering how it had felt to ask and be rejected last year certainly dampened his determination.   


"Harry, are you listening?" Angelina hissed angrily.   


"Uh, yeah." Harry snapped out of his reverie. "You were talking about our defensive strategy."  


Fred, George, and Ron snickered, while Alicia and Katie rolled their eyes. Ginny restrained a chuckle.  


"Actually, I was talking about our _offensive_ strategy. Never mind, I'll show you. Everyone get your brooms and come on." With that, they all filed out of the locker room and onto the field.   


Two hours later, the team trudged wordlessly up the steps to Gryffindor Tower. Angelina had worked them all unusually hard that night--even Ron, a reserve--and they were utterly exhausted. As they passed through the common room, they didn't see any of the fifth-years who, Harry figured, must still be eating a late dinner. He and Ron parted with the rest of the team and climbed the staircase to their dormitory, where they mumbled their goodnights and fell into bed. Too bad, Harry thought as he drifted off to sleep. He was sure that Ron had been hoping to ask Hermione to the dance that night, just to get it out of the way. 

***

**Author's Note:** Okay, apparently free time doesn't always accompany unemployment. Nevertheless, here is the next chapter! My undying thanks to all reviewers. Oh, and I forgot to thank SiriaBlack from the UHPMS site for giving me Professor Thorne's name, and w1zzard for giving me the whole idea of the scroll. What generous individuals.

I gather that the "Hogwarts dance" is considered something of a fanfic cliche. Bummer. For the record, I conceived of this storyline not having read any such fanfics. I hope you don't find it too tedious.

Of course, this entire world belongs to the prodigiously talented and ultimately inimitable J. K. Rowling. 


	24. Confessions

The next morning, Ron and Harry entered the common room to find Hermione sitting at a table near the stairway to the girls' dormitories, poring over a book and several rolls of parchment. She was writing on one of the rolls, concentrating so hard that she didn't heard Harry and Ron walk up behind her.  


"Hermione," said Harry.  


Startled, she came out of her chair slightly. "AAH! Don't _do_ that!" She eyed them resentfully as, snickering, they each pulled out a chair and sat down.   


"Oh, calm down, we weren't _trying_ to sneak up on you. You ought to pay a little more attention, you know. Say--" Ron glanced at the book and rolls of parchment covering the table-- "what is this, anyway?" But as soon as he had said it, Harry and Ron both recognized that one roll of parchment was covered in writing identical to that of the ancient scroll.  


"Hermione, have you figured it out?" Harry asked eagerly, grabbing the roll on which she had been writing in English and pulling it toward him.  


She raised her eyebrows. "You have a lot of faith in me, I see. Well, I am good," she stated matter-of-factly, "but even if I were a genius, translating a document this long would take me weeks. I've only just started on it."  


Ron grabbed the single book that lay open on the table, careful not to lose Hermione's place. "But you are translating it? You must know what language it's in, then!"  


Hermione leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. She looked a bit tired--Harry wondered how long she had been sitting there before he and Ron had interrupted her. "Yes, I was just going to tell you. Professor Thorne contacted his friend, and they worked it out together. It's ancient Moabite."  


Ron and Harry gave her identical puzzled stares.  


"Oh, honestly," she sighed, rolling her eyes. This irritated Harry, but he was curious enough about what she had to say that he remained silent. A quick glance at Ron revealed that he was restraining himself, too. Hermione reached out and took the book from Ron; as she flipped the pages, Harry saw the name on the spine: _Ancient Scripts of the Middle East_.   


Hermione found the passage she had been searching for, and read it aloud:

The Moabite people lived east of the Dead Sea from the   
14th century to 582 B.C. Their language was very similar to   
ancient Hebrew; in fact, its alphabet is almost identical to the   
one the Israelites used during the same period. 

Ron stared at her levelly. "You want to tell us what that means?"  


Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, for one thing, it means that the scroll is very old. Possibly three thousand years old."  


"Wow," said Harry. "It's in pretty good shape, isn't it?"  


"Actually, because of Preservation Charms, it's not so unusual for a magical item to last for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years. Though Professor Thorne says it's rare to find one _this_ old," Hermione answered. "Of course, Preservation Charms weren't invented until long after the scroll was written, so it aged quite a bit before it was charmed. That's why it's all yellow."  


"Does Professor Green know how it got into her trunk?" Ron asked.  


Hermione shook her head. "Apparently she's sent an owl to the Ministry to find out who owned the trunk before it got issued to her. She still doesn't know. Might never find out either, if the information's classified."  


"So, you still don't know what the scroll says, or where it came from," Harry concluded. "When do you think you'll know something?"  


Hermione shrugged. "It'll take at least a couple of months. I'll be happy to have this finished before the end of the school year, what with O.W.L.s to prepare for. Which reminds me, have you two been studying--"  


"I'm hungry," Ron interrupted, staring guiltily at the floor, "let's go downstairs."  


"Hmph." Hermione looked at them both reproachfully, but said nothing further. Carefully, she rolled up the pieces of parchment and placed them, along with the book, in her bag.  


Suddenly Harry was struck by a thought. "Um, Ron. I'm going to go ahead and ... save us a spot at the table. Okay?" While Hermione was looking down into her bookbag, Harry winked. Ron's face broke out in an expression of dawning comprehension, but before he could either agree or protest, Harry left. As he slid through the portrait hole, he silently congratulated himself on giving Ron the perfect opportunity to ask Hermione to the ball.  


Harry jogged through the corridors, wanting to put a few minutes' distance between himself and Ron and Hermione. He knew--though he couldn't have explained how, or why--that Ron would never ask Hermione to the ball while Harry was within earshot. So he trotted quickly along, minimizing the chances that they would accidentally catch up to him, and amusing himself by picturing a flustered Ron, wearing his new dress robes, presenting Hermione with a corsage. 

He chuckled to himself as he rounded a corner near the top landing of the great stone staircase that led down into the entrance hall. Unexpectedly, he saw a whirl of black robes, heard a short, startled cry, and felt hard stone hit his chest and face. His glasses made a clattering noise as they skittered along the floor, away from him. He hadn't even seen who he had run into. Before him, he saw nothing but blurry gray masses. He extended his hands and felt along the floor.  


"Here," said a girl's voice, and his glasses came into contact with his outstretched fingers. Gratefully, he grabbed them and put them back on, turning over into a sitting position.  


"Thanks," he said, "I'm sorry, I wasn't--"  


He looked up to see Cho kneeling a short distance away. A hot, prickly wave of embarrassment surged from his face down to his feet, and suddenly he lost his train of thought.  


"It was my fault," she said. She was smiling. He was grateful that she had decided to speak; it gave him a chance to think of something to say. "I was--thinking. I wasn't watching where I was going."  


"Neither was I," he admitted guiltily. "Look, are you alright?"   


"Yeah. Are you? I think you fell a lot harder than I did--"  


"Nah, I'm okay." He grinned sheepishly. At once he realized he was still sitting on the floor. He scrambled to his hands and feet, and tentatively held a hand out to Cho.  


"Thanks." She took his hand and stood up.   


Harry swallowed hard. _Ask her_, he thought to himself. All things being equal, he would have preferred not to ask Cho to the ball just after nearly giving her a concussion; but if he didn't ask her now, he might not get another chance. In fact, it was possible that it was already too late, that she already had a date for the Valentine's Ball ...  


"Harry," she said suddenly, staring him in the eye seriously. "I want to ask you something."  


"Oh--okay."  


"Would you like to go to the Ball with me?"   


His heart flip-flopped like a dying goldfish. His mouth had gone dry. Cho held his gaze steadily, showing no sign of the awkwardness he felt. "Yeah, sure," he croaked.  


She smiled again. "Great."  


He smiled back. "Yeah." He racked his brain painfully for something else to say, but came up with nothing.  


"Alright then," she said after a moment. "I'll see you around."  


"Yeah. See you."  


She turned and started down the corridor the way Harry had come, then stopped. "Harry," she called, turning back around to face him. "Good luck against Hufflepuff next Saturday."  


"Thanks!" he called, a little more enthusiastically than he had intended. He waved. She turned away again, and he continued down the corridor toward the stone staircase.   


As he descended the stairs, he ran the conversation over and over in his mind, trying to absorb what had just happened. He couldn't decide whether to be mortified at his awkwardness, or awed by the fact that Cho had asked _him_ to the ball. He was still contemplating this as he absent-mindedly entered the Great Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table.  


"Hey, Harry!" Ron shouted exasperatedly, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello!"  


Harry turned to see his best friend, slightly pink in the face, staring at him.  


"First Hermione, and now you. What is it with everyone?" Ron shrugged as poured himself a glass of cranberry juice.  


"Sorry, I was just thinking. So? What happened?"  


Ron suddenly became very interested in a tray of muffins. "Right, well, thanks for leaving me like that. I wasn't exactly planning on asking her first thing in the morning, you know. But," he glanced sideways at Harry, grinning, "she said yes. We're going."  


Harry laughed. "You're welcome. So where is she, then?"  


Ron shrugged, still staring at the muffin tray, as the shade of pink in his cheeks deepened. "Said she wanted to talk to Ginny." He motioned toward the far end of the table, where Ginny and Hermione sat talking and giggling animatedly.  


Then he seemed to remember something. "Hey, guess who we ran into on our way down? Cho was in the corridor."  


"Yeah. I ran into her, too." Ron looked at him quizzically, and Harry told him all about their collision, and how Cho had asked him to the ball- though he saw no need to describe the awkward pauses. When he had finished, Ron looked as amazed as Harry felt.  


"Wow," Ron muttered, turning back to the tray of muffins and finally selecting a poppyseed one. "You knock her down and she asks you to the ball. If you can manage to push her off her broom in the match against Ravenclaw, she'll probably ask you to marry her!"

***

On the first weekend in February, with the winter holiday past and the term in full swing, Quidditch was on everyone's mind. The students' talk in the classrooms, common rooms, and corridors was almost exclusively about the respective houses' chances at winning the Cup. Due to their victory over Gryffindor, Slytherin was heavily favored--much to the rest of the school's disgust.   


But despite Gryffindor's loss to Slytherin, only the most devoted Hufflepuffs expected Gryffindor to lose the first match of the term. Hufflepuff had already lost to both Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and most Hogwarts students had given up on them. And with good reason--it seemed that, without Cedric Diggory, the team was in desperate need of both a decent captain and a competent Seeker.  


"I don't want you getting too cocky," Angelina warned the Gryffindor team in the locker room before the game. Her scarlet robes billowed as she paced back and forth in front of them. Fred and George chuckled.  


"We got enough of those speeches when Oliver was here," Katie Bell put in. "Come on, Angelina, we're going to win. You saw Hufflepuff's match against Ravenclaw. They're hopeless."  


Angelina fought back a smile, shook her head, and addressed Katie sternly. "See, this is what I'm talking about! That type of talk will only get us in trouble. Their Chasers aren't bad, Katie. And their Beaters are upperclassmen; Fred and George, you'll have your work cut out for you."  


George rolled his eyes. "Alright, Angelina. We'll play the hardest game of our lives. Are you satisfied?"  


"No!" she answered. "Harry, Justin Finch-Fletchley is a bit of a ... er ... novice Seeker, but he's learning quickly. Please keep an eye on him."  


Harry nodded. He had seen Justin play in Hufflepuff's previous two matches, and he knew that Angelina was being generous. Even Malfoy had been able to fly circles around him.  


"Enough, Angelina! Harry's the best Seeker we've had in a hundred years," Fred protested. Suddenly he pointed a finger at her in mock solemnity. "And I have it on good authority, young lady, that you bet a certain Miss Abbott ten Galleons that Gryffindor would win. So, enough with the Oliver Wood routine!"  


Angelina glared at Fred, and swallowed, but said nothing for a moment. Finally, a funny sideways smile crept across her face. "Right, then. Let's go."  


As they walked out onto the field, Harry could hear the cheers of his schoolmates. After three and a half years' worth of Quidditch at Hogwarts, he had grown used to the sound: the applause, the yells, even the catcalls and hissing from the Slytherins. An unexpected thought struck him: he would miss this when he finally left school.   


To his right, Ginny's flaming red hair caught his eye. This was only her second game. That she wasn't yet used to the crowd, or the cheering, was obvious; her eyes were wide, and she looked around at the stands quickly, then down at the ground.  


"Ginny," Harry called.  


She looked over at him, surprised. "Yeah?"  


"Can I ask you something?"  


She stared at him quizzically, eyes still wide, and then nodded.  


"Are you alright? I mean, are you sure you want to do this?"  


She closed her eyes, nodded again, and looked back down at the grass. "It's Hufflepuff. It won't be like last time."  


"I know, but ... I just thought I'd ask. If you'd rather have Ron play Keeper in your place, this would be your last chance--"  


She stopped suddenly, and faced him. Nonplussed, Harry stopped as well. He had never seen her angry before--at least, not at him. "What are you saying, Harry? That because I got hurt in the match against Slytherin, I can't handle my position? That I should just step aside and let my big brother play?" She turned away and proceeded to walk very quickly toward the center of the pitch. Harry hurried to catch up.  


"No, I just meant--"  


"I know what you meant. You're just as bad as my mother." She cast a furtive, angry glance at Harry. Her eyes flashed intensely, and her fists were clenched; Harry was a little frightened. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."   


He opened his mouth to reply, but they had reached the center of the pitch, and the teams were lining up to face one another. Justin Finch Fletchley grinned ebulliently. Harry gave him a polite smile and clasped his outstretched hand; Justin shook it vigorously.   


To Harry's right, Madam Hooch began to speak.   


"Alright, teams, let's have a clean match. Captains, shake hands." Angelina shook the hand of the new Hufflepuff captain, a sixth-year whose name Harry didn't know. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and both teams kicked off at once.  


As usual, the Golden Snitch disappeared almost immediately. Harry climbed above the other players and began to circle the pitch, with Justin following awkwardly at a great distance. Soon Lee Jordan's amplified voice filled the stadium.  


"And the match has begun! Gryffindor in possession--no surprise there--oh, sorry, Professor McGonagall. Spinnet passes to Bell, and--BELL SCORES!"   


Applause erupted in the stands. Harry noticed that a disproportional number of spectators were wearing red, and only a very few--gathered in a small knot on one end of the Hufflepuff bleachers--wore canary yellow. Three of the figures looked suspiciously like Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.  


"Hufflepuff in possession. Archer passes to Macmillan--no! Johnson intercepts the Quaffle, and--SCORES!"  


Harry continued to circle, scanning the sky, the stands, and the field for any sign of the Snitch. Justin was trying to follow, but having trouble keeping up. Harry actually felt a little sorry for him.  


"And Spinnet scores for Gryffindor--come on, this is too easy," Lee voice boomed. "Ouch! Sorry, Professor!"  


But Lee was right. Without Cedric, the Hufflepuff team was sorely outmatched. It was a relief when, thirty minutes and a hundred and ninety Gryffindor points later, Harry finally caught the Snitch. He landed on the soft grass of the field, holding the gleaming sphere high above his head. The crowd cheered, sounding more thankful than excited. Justin Finch Fletchley walked up to Harry and held out his hand once again. Once again, Harry shook it, but this time he smiled earnestly, and even sympathetically, back.  


"It's alright," Justin said amiably, as though reading Harry's thoughts. "You can't win them all, can you?" Slowly, both teams parted and filed into their respective locker rooms.   


As they walked together, the members of the Gryffindor team traded happy smiles. But when Harry cast a congratulatory glance at Ginny, she only stared stonily in return. His mood fell a little; then he became angry. Why was Ginny mad at him, anyway? He had only been trying to help when he suggested she let Ron play. He hadn't meant anything by it.  


"What is her problem?" Harry wondered aloud. Ron and Hermione had stayed behind to wait for Harry to come out of the locker room, and the three of them now made their way back up to the castle. Most everyone had already gathered for dinner; only a few odd players still lingered outside, chatting about the match and enjoying the mild weather.  


Hermione stared at Harry evenly. "Harry. You mean you really don't know?"  


"Know what? All I know is, she's being completely impossible. I just said--"  


"It's not _about_ what you said," Hermione interrupted, and abruptly stopped walking. "Listen, she's had a crush on you since she was ten years old."  


Harry's face reddened a bit; he was embarrassed now, which just made him angrier. "So? That doesn't give her the right to be unreasonable--"  


"She doesn't see it that way. She's just disappointed, is all."  


Now it was Harry's turn to stare at Hermione. "Disappointed?"  


She sighed extravagantly. "Harry," she said as she looked him in the eye. "She wanted you to ask her to the ball, of course. And when you struck up a conversation with her--I'd bet she thought you _were_ going to ask her. Or at least hoped as much."  


Harry was speechless; he simply returned her gaze, open-mouthed. He looked to Ron for help, but Ron simply raised his eyebrows, as if to say, _she has a point_. Harry knew that she did, but he was not about to concede it.  


"Well ... it's not my fault if she got the wrong idea! I already told Cho I'd go with _her_, anyway."   


"But Ginny didn't know that." Hermione began walking again; the boys followed suit.  


"Fine, let her be angry then. I don't care."  


Surprisingly, Hermione smiled. "You could have fooled me."  


Harry sighed, and shook his head. He stared into the cheerfully-lit windows of the Great Hall as they walked past. Inside, people were laughing and talking as they ate, several of them in pairs. "I'll just be glad when this whole ball thing is over with. It's a lot more trouble than it's worth."  


But it was going to get worse before it got better. Over the next week, Harry found it difficult to concentrate in class; his mind kept wandering as he imagined what an actual date with Cho would be like. In Herbology, he pruned his hemlock plant to within an inch of its life. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall scolded him harshly when, instead of making his quill disappear and then reappear on the opposite side of the room, he accidentally turned it into an earthworm.  


But still, he couldn't stop thinking about it. A _date_--whenever the word came to mind, his stomach tightened into a fiery knot. He wondered what he had got himself into. Several times he considered faking an illness, or "accidentally" injuring himself during Quidditch practice in order to get out of it. He was certain to embarrass himself in some way, he always did around Cho. But on the other hand, Cho did seem to like him--hadn't _she_ asked _him_ to the ball?--and if he managed to avoid looking like an idiot, they might actually have a good time.   


Before he had decided whether he would rather take Cho to the ball or develop a particularly nasty case of strep throat, it was the Saturday before Valentine's Day. When Harry awoke, he felt as though he had spent the night swallowing needles, and as the day wore on, the needles only accumulated. As it turned out, George Weasley had asked a Ravenclaw girl to the ball, as well. So at six o'clock, after Harry had changed into his dress robes, he arranged to meet Ron and Hermione in the entrance hall, met George in the common room, and set out with him for the Ravenclaw wing.  


"_Technically_, we're not supposed to know where their common room is," George half-whispered. "But of course Fred and I have known for years--thanks to the Marauder's Map. We've sold Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes in all the common rooms--except Slytherin's." He wrinkled his nose, then shook his head. "Even the Prefects don't mind us anymore. I've arranged for Roger to let us in."   


"Mm-hmm." Harry pretended to listen, but in reality he was wondering whether it would be too late to fake a debilitating injury.  


"Nervous?" George asked as they turned down a corridor that Harry had never used before.  


"Nah," he answered, not very convincingly.   


George smirked. "Hey, it's just a date, right? What's the worst that could happen?" He patted Harry on the shoulder lightheartedly.  


Since Harry had spent the past week thinking of the worst that could happen, this wasn't much comfort, but he appreciated George's attempt at cheering him up.  


"Ah, here we are," George remarked as they approached a large tapestry showing a tunic-clad woman weaving at a loom. George pulled out his wand and tapped the loom three times. After a few seconds, the tapestry was pulled aside and a boy's head popped out from behind it.  


"Hey, George! Hi, Harry." It was Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain. Harry had never been formally introduced to him, but it had been a long time since he was surprised that a stranger knew his name.  


"Come in," Roger said, stepping out into the corridor and holding the tapestry aside for them. George and Harry walked through a stone archway behind the tapestry, and into a very large room.   


The Ravenclaw common room wasn't circular, like Gryffindor's, or long and narrow, like Slytherin's; rather, it was short, but very, very wide. The far wall was lined with arched windows overlooking the Quidditch pitch and, beyond it, the Forbidden Forest. The other three walls were lined with bookshelves, which reminded Harry of Professor Thorne's office, and a fire roared in the fireplace off to the left. The room was very brightly lit by candelabras on the tables scattered around. Driven to distraction by his extreme nausea at that moment, Harry imagined the room during the daytime, with sunlight streaming through the many windows and falling on reading Ravenclaws.  


But no one was reading now. Students in dress robes of all colors stood around and talked excitedly. Only a few seemed to notice George's and Harry's presence, and they just waved in greeting. A blond girl dressed in robes of a very becoming chocolate brown walked up to George.  


"Olive! Looking lovelier than ever," he murmured as he took her hand, bent over, and kissed it exaggeratedly. She laughed.  


"Harry, this is--" George began to introduce Harry to his date, but at the exact moment when he was telling Harry her name, Cho came into view over her shoulder, and Harry lost focus. He recovered in time to mumble a hello, just before Cho reached the three of them.  


"Hi, Harry, George," Cho greeted them.  


She was dressed in robes of deep burgundy, and had her hair pulled back into a French twist. The first time he had seen her on the Quidditch field, Harry had thought Cho very pretty; but the girl who stood facing him now was stunningly beautiful. Harry's nausea had disappeared, but suddenly he could not remember how to speak.  


Fortunately, George did not seem to have this problem. "Shall we be off?" he asked, offering his arm to Olive in another overwrought chivalric gesture. She played along, lifting her nose high in the air and resting her hand on his arm regally, and they set off through the archway.  


As Harry and Cho moved to follow them, he regained his voice. "You look nice."  


She smiled wanly. "Thanks."   


The four of them moved through the corridors quickly, led by an eager George. "I can't wait to see Lee play. I hear he has a great voice--wonder if I could manage to slip him a Helium Crisp beforehand--"  


Harry had made a mental note to stay away from the snack table, when they reached the entrance hall and saw Ron and Hermione waving at them. Ron was dressed in the same robes he had worn to Percy's wedding, but Hermione's robes weren't the blue ones she had worn on that occasion; instead, she was dressed in a pretty saffron. She noticed Harry's puzzled stare, and whispered, "Well, I couldn't wear the same robes as last year, could I? I switched with Lavender!"  


George introduced them to Olive, and then Harry introduced them to Cho. All around, people were filing past and into the Great Hall.  


"Looks like we're holding up traffic a bit. Shall we go on?" Hermione asked. They nodded, and the six of them joined the crowd and walked inside.  


Except for the decorations, the Great Hall was set up much the same way as it had been last year for the Yule Ball: the long house tables were missing, replaced by several round tables set up to one side. But there was no frost, mistletoe, or ivy covering the walls this time. Instead, a shimmering golden mist hung in the air. Harry noticed that there were no candles in the room; the mist was its only light source. It made for rather low light, and it wasn't as ornate as last year's decorations, but it had a certain ambient charm about it.  


On the opposite side of the room from the round tables sat a raised platform bearing a set of drums and several guitars. Lee Jordan and three other students from different houses converged on the platform, picking up their respective instruments.  


Harry scanned the crowd, happy at his inability to find a single dwarf dressed as Cupid. There were Draco Malfoy in his high-collared black velvet, and Pansy Parkinson, wearing frilly robes of ice blue. And Crabbe and Goyle had apparently found dates this year: Slytherin girls several years younger, who did not look keen to dance with them. And there, just entering the hall with Colin Creevey, was Ginny.   


Harry almost hadn't recognized her. Even though he had seen her in dress robes at last year's Yule Ball, she looked somehow different tonight. She wore robes of a deep royal blue, and her hair, set high on her head, fell around her face, framing it in orange ringlets.  


Ginny and Colin looked around; she spotted Harry and her expression changed instantly from one of contentment to one of icy disdain. Then Lee's voice echoed from the stage.   


"Witches and wizards, welcome to Hogwarts' First Annual Valentine's Ball! Now, without any further delay, let's get the party started--"  


At once, the band began to play. George had been right: Lee _did_ have a nice voice after all. And he wasn't bad on the guitar, either.  


"Let's dance!" Hermione exclaimed, and tugged a frightened-looking Ron onto the dance floor. George and Olive were already there, jumping about wildly.  


"Harry," Cho said, tugging at his arm. "Do you want to dance?"  


"Okay." It was then that Harry realized he hadn't thought this through -he didn't know how to dance! All his energy had been focused on asking Cho, and he hadn't thought for a second about what they would do when they got here. Last year, at least he'd had Parvati to lead him. This year, he was on his own.  


She walked out to the middle of the floor, edging between couples dancing with varying degrees of enthusiasm. He watched them. There didn't seem to be any prescribed way of doing it, that he could tell; they were all moving different body parts randomly in time to the music. He took a deep breath. _I can do this_, he thought.  


And he did. Once he got going, it wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared. To his great relief, he found that hardly anyone paid attention to them. The music was easy enough to dance to. And--the best part--it was so loud that he didn't have to talk; instead, he and Cho just smiled politely at each other.  


They danced like this to three or four songs. Cho seemed happy, but a little distracted--or could she be nervous, too? Harry couldn't tell. Then the music quieted, and Lee began to sing a slower melody. For a second, Harry was unsure what to do; last year, Parvati had placed one of his hands round her waist and clasped the other in her hand, but no one was dancing like this now. It was less formal. He noticed that Ginny had her arms clasped around Colin's neck, while Colin had placed his hands on her waist. He had just decided to try this when Cho leaned in and placed a hand on his shoulder.  


"I'm going to sit down, okay?"  


Grateful for the reprieve, Harry smiled. "Okay. Do you want a drink or something?"  


But she wasn't smiling back. She frowned into the distance, at nothing. "No. I just--I need to get out of here."  


Suddenly, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd, away from Harry. Astonished, he stared after her. Then he noticed Fred and Angelina standing nearby, looking at him. In fact, several people were.  


He ran out of the Great Hall after her. As he reached the door to the entrance hall, he just saw one of the large oak doors swing shut. Quickly he ran to the door and opened it.  


Outside it was chilly. A sliver of moon hung over the lawn, surrounded by the stars that he had already seen illuminating the ceiling of the Great Hall. He could just make her out, dimly, walking at a brisk pace down the lawn. She appeared to be heading for the lake.  


"Cho!" he called, but she didn't answer. He ran down the steps, overwhelmed by curiosity and concern. Ahead of him, she reached the water's edge and sat down on the ground, drawing her knees up and burying her face in her arms.  


Without a word, he crept up and sat down next to her. It grew colder after a few minutes, and he conjured a small fire, which he placed between them. He didn't know what to say--he didn't even know for sure what was wrong. But he had an idea.  


Finally, she spoke.  


"Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--to make a scene, or anything. I'm really sorry."  


"Oh, I don't care about that," he answered.   


After a few more seconds of silence, she spoke again. "I still miss him."  


Harry mimicked her posture: he drew his knees up to his chin and placed his arms around them.  


"We danced to that song last year, you know. That's why I--I don't know why, I just had to leave." She turned her head toward him. "Harry, I have a confession to make."  


He said nothing, simply turned his head to look at her. Her face was dry, but tears hung wet in her lashes, reflecting the pale sheen of the moon.   


"I asked you to the ball because I thought--I thought it would help me to forget. Or something. At first I didn't want to come at all, I would have much rather sat on my bed and read--or tried to read--all evening. But I knew that wouldn't work. Then, I thought that if I asked you, we'd have fun--" when she said this, she smiled a little, so sadly that it nearly broke his heart-- "and I could forget for a little while." She brushed her wet lashes with the back of her hand. "Not that I ever want to forget Cedric. I want to remember him. I just--don't want it to hurt so much."  


_Cedric._ He had been dreading hearing the name, dreading the guilt that he knew he would feel. The truth was that he had been trying to forget, too. But, unlike her, he had done a decent job of it. A sudden surge of grief and guilt made his heartbeat quicken.   


He hadn't talked to anyone about the events leading up to Cedric's death since the night it had actually happened, when he had spoken to Mrs. Weasley in the hospital wing. Even when he had met with Cedric's parents a few days later, they had done most of the talking. But now, for some reason, he wanted to talk. He wanted to tell her.  


"It should have been me."  


She glanced over at him, astonished. Her mouth was open, her eyes trained on him. "What--"  


He looked away from her. It was so difficult, so very difficult, but he had to tell her. He owed her the truth. "He offered to let me take the Cup," he said slowly, emphatically. "He wanted me to take it. I refused. I made him take it with me ... if it wasn't for me, he'd still be here. He'd still be alive."  


For a moment, silence. Then: "No. No, no, no." She shook her head vigorously. "Harry, you were there at the end-of-year feast. You heard what Dumbledore said. You were brave, you fought--how could you have known?"  


Now it was his turn to shake his head. He placed his forehead against the tops of his knees, the sheer fabric of his dress robes pressing into his skin.   


_"It wasn't your fault."_  


They were the same words Mrs. Weasley had spoken to him in the hospital wing, but when she had said them, they hadn't rung true. Now, coming from Cho, who had known Cedric and (there was no other word) loved him, they felt like a pardon. His eyes were stinging. He snuck a sideways glance at her--she looked at him for a minute, then turned away to stare over the lake. When she did this, he wiped his eyes surreptitiously, and raised his head.  


Without a word, Cho slung an arm around Harry's shoulder, and they sat there together, looking out over the water, for a long time. Song after song echoed from the Great Hall in the distance. After a while, she stood up. He stood, too.  


"If you don't mind, I'd like to go up to the Ravenclaw wing. Harry, I'm really sorry if I've ruined your evening."  


"No," he answered earnestly. "You didn't. Do you want me to walk you back?"   


"No, thanks. I'd rather go alone." She held out a hand. "Thanks for a wonderful evening."   


He took her hand in his, and shook it. She smiled, and his heart broke again. Then, impulsively, she stepped forward and hugged him.   


At first he stood motionless, a bit shocked. But then he hugged her back. Harry had never had a sister--just as he had never had a brother, or a proper mother or father--but he imagined that this must be what it felt like. He and Cho shared something, a bond. Yesterday she had been his crush; today she was his friend.   


She pulled back from him, regarded him for a second, then leaned forward again--and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Harry." She turned around and, with her usual briskness, walked up the hill, climbed the steps, and disappeared through the oak doors.  


Harry stood silently for a moment. Then he bent, scooped up the fire in his hands, and began to walk toward the castle. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure moving along the far side of the lake, skirting the Forbidden Forest. He squinted and saw that it was a dog--in fact, it was Sirius. Harry glanced back up at the castle, taking in the noise and light streaming out of the Great Hall. At the moment, a visit with Sirius was much more appealing. Harry changed direction, and made for the forest quickly, trying to catch him.

***

****

**Author's Note:** I'm employed! :D So let it not be said that I slacked off completely over the past four weeks. Also, I am going to do something I have never done before: give a specific ETA for the next chapter. Chapter 25 should be posted Friday, August 3.

Thanks again to R. J. Anderson for her continued help and willingness to listen to all my crazy plot theories and offer thoughtful advice (read her "Potion's Master's Apprentice" trilogy!!). Thanks also to everyone at the Harry Potter Connection (formerly the UHPMS) forums for your valuable comments. Thanks also to the Beast for continually bugging me to post. :)

It's JKR's world, I just live--uh, I mean play--in it. 


	25. At the Lakeside

Because Harry was running while Sirius was walking, it didn't take long to close the distance between them. As Harry ran, he extinguished the fire he carried--it was too much trouble to run with, and he could always conjure another one. He had just got within earshot of Sirius, and was about to call out, when he suddenly noticed that Sirius wasn't alone. There was another figure standing motionless in the shadow of the forest, a short distance in front of Sirius. Apparently Harry and Cho hadn't been the only ones to leave the ball for the lakeshore; but who would dare to venture this close to the Forbidden Forest alone, at night? Surely not a student.  


Ahead of him, Sirius transfigured into his human form. "Persephone."  


Instinctively, Harry took two steps sideways and ducked into the forest to avoid being seen. If he had realized that Sirius was coming outside to speak to Professor Green, he would never have followed him. Now that he _had_ followed, he wanted to get away undetected: he would simply walk just inside the edge of the forest until he was far enough away that Sirius and Professor Green wouldn't see him, then he would head for the castle. He turned around to begin walking, and heard a horrible ripping sound.  


He'd stepped right into a briar patch.  


Harry froze, then carefully felt the edges of his robes where they had torn. Fortunately, they had only ripped a little; but they were still badly tangled with the thorns. Not only that, but the entire lower half of his dress robes were snagged--all the way up to the waist. He felt along the folds of soft fabric, pricking his fingers repeatedly. If he tried to pull away, a large section of his robes would likely tear off. He shuddered at the thought, and wished that Hermione were around--she knew a good Detangling Charm that she had never bothered to teach him. He had never needed to know one before.  


Careful not to move his robes, he knelt on a patch of bare earth at the edge of the briar patch and began carefully working the fabric free. Meanwhile, Sirius' and Professor Green's voices drifted through the trees, toward him. They weren't far away; he couldn't avoid hearing them. He tried to block them out by concentrating on freeing himself. He moved his fingers more quickly between the woody briars and the fabric of his robes--unfortunately, however, this did not speed up the process, and only succeeded in getting him some nasty scratches.  


"Sirius," came Professor Green's voice. She sounded a little surprised. "Is anything wrong?"  


"No," he answered. "I was just--looking for you. You weren't inside."  


"No. I only stayed for a little while."  


"Oh," he said quickly, sounding a little anxious. "Well, I've been thinking, and there's something I need to speak to you about."  


Harry tried to stare down at his mangled robes, but they were cloaked in shadow--he could see nothing. And he didn't dare light his wand or conjure a fire, for fear of being discovered. Furtively he glanced through the brush, and saw the faces of Sirius and Professor Green in the scant moonlight. Immediately he squinted back down into the darkness.  


"Can it wait? It's late--"  


"Please. This isn't easy. I need you to listen to me, and not talk."  


She paused for a long while, and Harry began to hope she might not respond. Maybe they would postpone this discussion until later.  


"Alright."  


Sirius took a deep breath. "Okay. I don't know any way of saying this, other than to just say it. I think--I love you."  


Harry nearly uttered a strangled cry of shock, but caught it just in time--though he had to actually clasp his hands over his mouth to prevent it coming out. No matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he wouldn't be able to block this out, he knew. Cursing his unlucky talent for overhearing other people's private conversations, he gave up staring into the darkness and peered through the brush as his hands worked frantically to free him from the briar patch.  


Professor Green breathed in sharply. For what seemed like ages, she didn't answer. Then, she said, "I--I love you, too. You're my best friend."  


A nervous smile spread across Sirius' face. "That's not what I meant."  


She regarded him solemnly, bit her lip, and spoke. "I know what you meant."  


Now he looked puzzled. "You know? Then why--" His voice trailed off, as though he already knew the answer.   


She looked down, and spoke very softly, but emphatically. "I'm sorry, I really am. But it's just not the same for me. I don't feel the same way."  


He looked stunned for a second, but promptly smiled again. "Well, of course not. I've only just told you. You haven't had time to think about it yet--"  


She shook her head and began pacing. "Yes, I have. I've known. For months! I could tell--every time I looked at you, I could see it on your face." She looked up at him for a second, then resumed pacing. Her words were quick, almost frantic, and she gestured energetically as she talked. "I've had plenty of time to think. And each time I thought about it, I reached the same conclusion." She stopped pacing and stared at him inquisitively. "Didn't you wonder why we haven't been spending as much time together lately? I know it sounds cruel, but I--" she paused as though she found this part difficult to say-- "I was avoiding you. I thought that maybe if I weren't around as much--maybe you'd lose interest."   


He looked puzzled again. "Lose interest," he repeated, very quietly. "I don't understand." But he did understand. Harry knew he did, because he heard the painful note of protest in Sirius' voice.  


Professor Green regarded him unhappily. "You don't become a Summoner without learning a thing or two about destiny, Sirius. And I know one thing: _I'm not yours_."  


Sirius stared back at her blankly. "You once told me that our destiny depends on our choices."  


She nodded. "That's right," she said, smiling awkwardly. "But sometimes our true choices are buried underneath the surface ones."  


Sirius closed his eyes. "What on earth does that mean?"  


She regarded him earnestly, and lowered her voice. "What you think is -is love--isn't. Not really. It's friendship, and proximity, and familiarity, and loneliness--"  


"Wait," he interrupted. "Are you telling me that you don't believe me? Are you trying to say that I don't really love you?"  


She winced. "No. I never said that--"  


"Persephone. I fell in love with you, and--and you talk to me about destiny? All I know is that you are the thing in the world that makes the most sense to me."  


"That's because I'm your truest friend."  


Harry winced, but Sirius held her gaze levelly. "And what if that's not enough?"   


She met his level gaze with her own. "It'll have to be."  


"But what if it's not?" he insisted.  


She didn't answer right away this time, but appeared to consider the question carefully. "Then--" her voice cracked a little-- "I suppose we can't be friends, either."  


His stony expression melted into one of compassion and mild regret. "Don't cry. I'm sorry." He stepped forward and embraced her with the easy familiarity of a good friend. "But I think you're wrong about us."  


Her head resting on his shoulder, Professor Green was now facing away from Sirius, toward Harry. She smiled wistfully. "No, you don't. You _want_ me to be wrong. There's a difference."  


He held her out at arm's length, and looked at her. "If there is, I can't feel it."  


Quite unexpectedly, he placed one hand behind her head, leaned forward, and kissed her lightly. Harry looked down into the darkness again, furious with himself for not having worked his robes free by now. When he looked back up, they were staring at each other, Sirius with a funny, soft kind of expression Harry had never seen before.  


But Professor Green's expression hadn't changed. It was the same serious, pitying look she had worn a few seconds ago. Harry pricked his thumb on a thorn roughly, but barely noticed--he was too preoccupied by the anger seething within him. This time it wasn't directed at himself, though: it was directed at Professor Green. She seemed so cruel, so indifferent.  


Slowly, Sirius began to comprehend her expression. He regarded her thoughtfully.  


"This isn't about me, is it?" he finally said. "It's about him."  


She was nonplussed. "Who?"  


"Demetrius."  


She stared for a moment, mouth open in surprise. Finally, she answered, "No, it's not about him at all, believe me."  


"I don't believe you," he said, and took a step closer. His voice was full of pain and understanding and compassion. "Persephone, he's been gone _fourteen years_."  


She closed her eyes, shook her head, and held out a hand to silence him. "Stop. This conversation is over." She spoke quietly, but with a note of steely certainty. At once she turned and walked away, toward the castle.  


He watched her go, mouth open as though he wanted to say something else, but wasn't sure what. When she had reached the castle steps, he transfigured himself back into the black dog, and set off around the lake in the opposite direction.  


Harry's mind stung with compassion for Sirius and (though Harry had trouble formulating exactly what her fault had been) anger at Professor Green. He had had his own awkward moments with girls, but nothing like what Sirius had just endured. With a last, desperate tug, Harry finally freed himself of the briars and rushed off after him. Maybe Sirius would rather be alone, but maybe not. And if he did want to talk, so much the better; Harry did, too.

As he made his way toward Sirius, who was now ambling slowly around the lakeshore, Harry glanced sideways at the steps to the castle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Green on her way up, conversing with someone. Hoping the darkness and the distance would keep her from spotting him, Harry sped up.  


He caught up with Sirius on a little hill overlooking the lakeside, about ten minutes' walk from the spot where he'd been talking with Professor Green. Sirius sat in his dog form, head on his paws, staring across the lake. It seemed a popular activity this evening, Harry thought to himself.  


"Hey, Snuffles."  


Sirius raised his head and licked Harry's outstretched hand morosely. Then he looked around and, seeing no one, took his usual form.  


Harry was busy trying to think of a way to commiserate without admitting to eavesdropping, when Sirius spoke, saving him the trouble.  


"I don't know what I expected."  


Harry feigned ignorance. "What do you mean?"   


Sirius shut his eyes tight and shook his head--he had changed his mind. "Don't want to talk about it." He picked up a pebble and threw it. It skipped three times on the moonlit surface of the lake, and sank.   


Suddenly Sirius turned toward Harry, as if he'd just remembered something. "How was your date?"  


Harry was glad it was dark; he was sure he was blushing furiously. Still, he wanted to seem casual. He shrugged. "Alright, I guess. She didn't really want to dance."  


Sirius raised an eyebrow and cast him a sideways glance. "Really?" It was more of a statement than a question.   


"No! I mean--she just wanted to talk. Then she went up to her common room early." He paused. "To study, probably."  


They both laughed. "That's the disadvantage to having a Ravenclaw girlfriend," Sirius mused. "The advantage is, she can help you with your homework."  


Harry shook his head. "No, she's not my girlfriend." He thought for a moment. "She's my friend, though."  


Sirius nodded. "There seems to be a lot of that going around." He chuckled grimly as he skipped another pebble across the water. This one skimmed the surface twice before it sank.  


"Let me try." Harry felt around for a flat pebble. Not finding one close by, he crawled a short distance, feeling along the ground as he went. After a few seconds, he found a small, waferlike stone. He pocketed it and turned around--to see a tall, black-robed figure walking up behind Sirius in the darkness.  


Harry was stunned speechless for a moment; by the time he thought to cry out in warning, a sneering voice had issued from the tall shadow.  


"I might have known."  


Harry recognized the voice at once--it was Snape.  


"What do you want, Snape?" Sirius asked lazily, without turning around.   


"I just had a very interesting conversation with Professor Green."  


Harry's heart raced. Surely she hadn't told him -- ?  


"I saw her coming from this direction, and she seemed a bit- distressed. But when I asked, she refused to tell me what was wrong. I decided to come and investigate for myself." Snape was standing very close by, but evidently he had no idea that Harry was present. His cold, black eyes were entirely focused on Sirius. "I might have known I would find you here, Black--"   


"Go away," Sirius said dismissively.  


But Snape just stood there, surveying Sirius with malice. "Conceited, arrogant Sirius Black. Sirius Black, the heartbreaker. You kiss the girls and make them cry, isn't that right?" His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "You haven't changed since school."  


Sirius stood and faced him now. "Neither have you. You're still sticking your nose in other people's business, and you still have no idea what you're talking about."  


Snape took a step toward him. "Enlighten me, then."  


But Sirius just laughed and shook his head. "Is meddling in other people's affairs just a hobby or yours, or do you consider yourself a professional?"   


"I'm serious, Black--"  


"So am I." There was a note of menace in his voice that gave Snape pause, just long enough for Sirius to say: "I would stay and chat--but I'm afraid you're the last person I want to talk to right now. I'll be on my way."   


He suddenly looked at Harry. Their eyes met for an instant, then Sirius turned back to face Snape. "I'll see you later," he growled, just before he took on his canine form and trotted off in the opposite direction.  


Harry smiled; he knew that last comment was meant for him, but thankfully, Sirius had chosen not to give him away. He looked up at Snape, who stared after Sirius, fuming. Harry stood there for a moment, his feelings mirrored exactly by Snape's angry scowl. He fingered the flat stone in his pocket, imagining what advice Ron would give in this situation ("Go on, chuck it at him! He deserves it."). Then Hermione's voice came to mind ("He'll give you detention, Harry! What would be the point? Leave him alone!"). He deliberated for several long seconds before Hermione won out, and then he turned and quietly made his way back.   


He walked into the entrance hall, still angry but relieved to have got away from Snape undetected. Hermione's voice had been right: considering his foul mood, he surely would have assigned Harry detention for being out-of-bounds at night, even--or perhaps especially--with Sirius present.   


As he walked toward the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry heard singing--but it definitely wasn't Lee's voice. It took a moment for Harry to recognize it as Professor Green's.   


He entered the room. Even as dim as it was, the light was blinding compared to the moonlight his eyes had become adjusted to. As they regained their focus, he saw differently-colored swirls moving slowly around the room. The crowd appeared to have thinned, and most of the remaining students were dancing--or trying to. The song was slow and melancholy, with an odd rhythm:

They sat near one another  
  
At the water's edge.  
  
I'll say "they",  
  
Because "we" is too hard to say.

And he told her what he'd   
  
Come so far to tell her.  
  
With tears in her eyes, she said,  
  
"It can't be that way."

He felt like his wells were dried.  
  
I left the ring  
  
Down at the waterside.

Should I tell them how we cried?  
  
Should I tell them how you called me  
  
Your never-bride?  
  
And how I left the ring  
  
Down at the waterside?

When his eyes had finally adjusted to the light, Harry noticed Ginny and Colin dancing close by, with slightly puzzled looks on their faces. Many of the students wore similar expressions; apparently they felt funny dancing to such a sad song. Suddenly Colin caught sight of Harry and began waving furiously.  


"Harry! Hey, Harry!" He grabbed Ginny's hand and weaved his way through the crowd.  


"Hey, Colin."  


"I was just going to get us some drinks! Do you want one, Harry?"   


Colin looked so eager to fetch him a drink that Harry didn't have the heart to disappoint him. "Sure."  


"Great! You can talk to Ginny in the meantime." And before either of them could protest or make an excuse to avoid being left alone together, Colin was gone.  


Ginny sighed in irritation and looked around, arms folded, avoiding Harry's gaze. Thinking he might as well make the best of the situation, he tried to think of a way to start a conversation.  


"Having fun with Colin?"  


"Mmm-hmm." She looked as though she were searching the crowd desperately for someone else to speak to. Finally, she gave up and rounded on Harry.  


"And what about you? I saw Cho leave--did you try to persuade her to quit the Ravenclaw team, or something?"  


He took a deep breath and looked Ginny in the eye. "No." He wondered whether he should tell her the truth, and then decided there was no reason not to. He lowered his voice and answered evenly, as though she had asked him in earnest. "She didn't want to stay because she still misses Cedric."  


At once the fire left Ginny's eyes and she took a step back, mouth open. Just then, Colin came bursting through a nearby cluster of Hufflepuffs, carrying three cups with great difficulty. The Hufflepuffs frowned and whispered as he narrowly avoided covering them in a steaming orange liquid.  


"Pumpkin cider!" he cried excitedly, handing one cup to Ginny and one to Harry.  


"Thanks, Colin." Harry took the cup. "Well, I think I'm going to find Ron."  


"Oh," Colin answered, a little disappointed. "Well, I just saw him and Hermione head upstairs with Fred and Angelina. Why don't you stay, Harry? We'd get a chance to catch up!"  


Harry was trying to think of a way of excusing himself, and had opened his mouth to speak, when Ginny interrupted.  


"Er--Colin, Harry's just asked me to dance. Do you mind? Just for this one song?"  


"Oh! No, of course not," Colin answered brightly. "I'll just go and see how Dennis is getting on."  


Ginny nodded, and Colin raised his cup in farewell and disappeared--but not before bumping into Seamus Finnigan and spilling pumpkin cider all over Lavender Brown.  


Harry looked at Ginny inquisitively. "I really don't--"   


"Come on." She grabbed his cider and placed it, with her own, on a nearby table. Then she grasped his hand and led him to the dance floor.  


Harry took a deep breath; he hadn't been expecting this. He strained his mind to remember how to dance to the slow songs. But, seemingly without thought, Ginny placed his hands around her waist and her own hands around his neck, and began to lead.   


"Harry, I owe you an apology," she said. "Hearing the truth about Cho made me realize what an awful brat I've been." She took a deep breath. "I'm sure you didn't mean anything by asking me if I was alright to play Keeper against Hufflepuff. I guess it was just a touchy subject, after Christmas, and the argument with Mum and all." She shifted her gaze nervously. "Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."  


Then she looked up at him earnestly, and Harry felt his feet go numb.  


"It's alright," he mumbled, looking down. When he looked back up at her, she was smiling. At that moment, the song ended; up on the stage, Professor Green was handing Lee's guitar back to him.   


"Right then," Ginny said with an air of finality. "I reckon I'd better go find Colin." Suddenly, Harry found that he didn't want her to leave. But before he got up the nerve to tell her, she had gone.  


He looked around. The other students, including Ginny and a reluctant Colin (who kept waving in an attempt to get Harry's attention) were leaving, and Lee and the band were packing up their things. Even the golden mist in the air had faded into a very faint luminescent glow. All at once, Harry felt very, very tired. Slowly, following the crowd, he made his way across the room and up the stairs.

*** 

When he reached the Gryffindor common room, Harry found Ron and Hermione chatting with Fred and Angelina near the fire. He wondered vaguely where George and Olive had got to, then realized that George had probably escorted his date back to the Ravenclaw common room. 

Harry walked over to the foursome. As they spoke, they smiled and laughed, their eyes reflecting the firelight merrily; they all looked as though they were just winding down from a wonderful evening. 

Hermione saw him first, and her cheerful smile instantly acquired a nervous edge. She eyed his torn robes and his hands, which he realized were still bloody from the thorns. "Harry," she called, barely disguising her concern. "Come on, sit over here." 

He did as she asked, smiling faintly at Fred and Angelina. He wasnÕt in the mood for sociable chitchat. 

"How's it going, Harry?" asked Fred. 

Harry tried to look happy. "Alright, I guess," he mumbled, not very convincingly. 

Fred opened his mouth to ask another question, but Angelina elbowed him and spoke instead. "Well, itÕs getting late. I think weÕd both better go on up." 

"I'm fine. You can go," Fred replied, still looking at Harry. "So Harry--" 

"Fred!" Angelina hissed. "I said, _let's go_." 

Visibly annoyed, Fred muttered a reluctant goodnight and followed her to the foot of the dormitory staircases. 

Harry was grateful for Angelina's tact. But as soon as the two of them were out of earshot, the questions began. 

"Is everything alright? You look awful." 

"What happened with Cho?" 

"Why did she leave?" 

"Where _were_ you for the last two hours?" 

Hermione suddenly fell silent and held up a hand to quiet Ron. "Wait. We shouldn't harass him like this. Maybe he doesn't want to talk." 

Harry was very tired, but he decided that it would be easier to explain now than later. "No, it's alright," he said. And he told them everything that happened between him and Cho, from the time they left the ball to the moment she returned to her dormitory- intentionally leaving out the parts afterward, involving Sirius. Harry himself wasn't even supposed to know those parts; he definitely wouldn't feel right telling them to Ron and Hermione. 

As a result, there was a sizable chunk of time missing from Harry's story, and Hermione, at least, seemed to notice. She looked dubious when he finished recounting his edited version of the night's events. 

"Well, what happened to your hands? And your robes?" 

"Er--I just tripped and fell into some hedges, that's all." 

She furrowed her brow and bit her lip skeptically. Ron, however, seemed satisfied. 

"Ah, well," he said lightly, giving Harry an awkward little punch in the arm. "Maybe she'll come around after a while." 

"Yeah," Harry answered, rubbing his arm. "Maybe. So, what did I miss? Did you two have a good time?" 

Hermione grinned nervously, while Ron shrugged and shifted his gaze. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. It was fine." 

It was then that Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione were acting differently--strangely. Before the ball, they had been so relaxed around each other that they hardly seemed to notice each other's presence. Now, they seemed nervous. They were sitting a good distance apart, and when they moved, it was as though they were trying to avoid contact with each other. They averted their eyes, too, each one stealing glances at the other when he or she wasn't looking. 

Harry laughed: a low, relieved chuckle. At least _someone_ had had a good night. 

"What's so funny?" asked Ron, slightly indignant. 

Harry just shook his head. He knew better than to tell what he knew. "I'm just tired," he said, and it was true. "I'm going to bed." 

***

**Author's Note:** And that, my friends, is why I do not give ETA'sfor chapters. Actually, I did have a version of this finished by August 3, but it was even worse than this one, so be glad I did not force myself to meet the deadline. And for the record, I have been trying unsuccessfully to upload this chapter for weeks!  


The song "Down at the Riverside" was written by Don Chaffer of [Waterdeep][1], and can be found on the Waterdeep CD entitled _Sink or Swim_. I borrowed the song without permission, and altered the lyrics a bit. You must hear it, it's amazing.  


Many thanks again to the cool people at the HPC, who never fail to let me know exactly what they think. Especially R. J. Anderson, Lyda Clunas, and w1zzard.  


As everyone knows, this world really belongs to J. K. Rowling.  


Yes, I am a very mean person. >:D 

   [1]: http://www.waterdeep.com



	26. The Deprivatus Curse

Ironically, once Harry had put on his pajamas and lay down, he found that he could not sleep. He tossed and turned for several minutes. In his mind, he went over his conversation with Cho ... his conversation with Ginny ... Sirius' conversation with Professor Green ...  


Sirius. That was who Harry thought about most. He imagined him outside, sad and alone. He would be fine, Harry was sure. But it wasn't quite fair that he had to be alone, just now, when he needed a friend.  


A thought which had been slowly gathering in the back of Harry's mind rushed suddenly to the forefront. Of course--Sirius didn't have to be alone after all.  


Quietly, so as not to wake Neville and Dean (Seamus and Ron were still downstairs in the common room), Harry crept to the foot of his bed, opened his trunk and, looking around one last time to make sure Neville and Dean weren't watching, pulled the Invisibility Cloak from its spot in a corner of the trunk and covered himself with it.  


It was tricky getting out of the common room without anyone seeing him, but fortunately those who were still awake had congregated around the fireplace. Harry slowly pushed the Fat Lady's portrait away from the hole and squeezed through the narrow opening--no one noticed.  


Soundlessly he crept through the corridors, dodging errant couples here and there. He even caught sight of George Weasley sneaking back from the Ravenclaw common room. As he stepped off the staircase into the entrance hall, he heard voices coming from the dungeons. Not students', though--they were teachers' voices.  


"--you and _Black_ were conspicuously absent--"  


"Keep your voice down! Are you mad? Someone will hear." It was Professor Green.  


"Nonsense. The students and staff alike have long since retired," Snape's voice answered.  


"Wisely, I might add. You could learn from their example--"  


"Could I? Would I merely be stating the obvious if I noted that you happen to be roaming the corridors at an absurd hour yourself?"  


"I have an errand to run."  


"One involving Black, no doubt."  


Silence.  


"Professor Green, I understand that you trust your grandfather's judgment."  


"Yes, I do. Don't you?"  


"The Headmaster can be a very good judge of character, but even he is capable of error. And in this case, he seems to have overlooked one key fact--"  


"--I doubt that--"  


"--that _fact_ being that Sirius Black tried to kill me when he was only sixteen years old."  


Harry rolled his eyes. He had heard all of this before, and he could scarcely think of two people on earth he would less rather listen to than Green and Snape. As he made his way toward the door, their voices echoed through the hall.  


"You don't have to remind me, I remember. And I think my grandfather does too. But I noticed that _you_ seem to have conveniently forgotten some other details about that day--"  


"Such as?"  


"Such as the fact that you would never have been put at risk if it weren't for your own malice, and nosiness, and most especially, your jealousy--"   


"Jealousy?"  


"--of James Potter!"  


Harry stopped dead in his tracks. _What does my dad have to do with any of this?_ he wondered. Without consciously thinking about it, he drifted toward the staircase to the dungeons and listened. There was a pause. Snape didn't seem to have an answer.  


"I may have been the first to notice, but I wasn't the only one--not by a long shot. It was a running joke among the girls of my year by the time you had left school. You, and James, and Lily Evans."  


Harry caught his breath at the mention of his mother's name. It was odd to hear her called by her maiden name--he had known that Aunt Petunia had been named Evans before she had married Uncle Vernon, but he had never become used to the sound of the name. _Lily Evans._  


"I don't know what you mean," Snape snarled.  


Professor Green's voice lowered almost to a whisper. "You loved her, didn't you? But she was James's girlfriend. So you hated him, along with his friends, and you searched high and low for a way to get them expelled from school--   


Snape's voice exploded with barely restrained fury. _"How dare you- "_  


But Professor Green didn't stop. "It's not love that I fault you for; it's that you let it flare into hate and burn you up, into a horrible, charred effigy of the person you could have been. You twisted your love for her until it--until _you_ --were unrecognizable."  


Harry's heart froze. It couldn't be true; it was too bizarre and horrible to imagine. The thought of Snape with a _crush_! On Harry's mother, no less! It was unthinkable.  


But as soon as Harry had framed the thought he knew that it was also true. He had no other explanation for Snape's persistent hatred of his father. Professor Lupin had guessed that Snape was jealous of James Potter's Quidditch skill--but that hardly seemed like a plausible motivation for a hatred so enduring.  


Professor Green continued to speak. Harry could imagine Snape's furious stare, his eyes bulging, his yellow teeth bared. Whatever look he was giving Professor Green, she was not intimidated. She didn't even sound argumentative. She sounded--oddly compassionate.  


"But you really did love her. My grandfather told me what you did, told me the risks you took to save her. It must have crushed you to find out that she'd been killed anyway. Especially when she didn't have to die, but chose to, rather than give her son--James Potter's son--over to Voldemort. So you hated Harry, too, for the decision his mother made when he was barely old enough to walk."  


Harry leaned up against the wall dividing the entrance hall from the staircase, and slowly sunk down to the stone floor. He covered his face with his hands--which had no effect, since he was already invisible.   


It was true. At first Harry had thought Snape hated him for no reason at all, and then he thought Snape hated him because of his father. Now he knew neither was true: it was because of his mother.  


Professor Green kept talking. "But even for all that, you're not too far gone, are you? Not hopeless. I can see that you still love her, even though she's been dead fourteen years."  


There was a long pause. Finally, Snape spoke in the icy tone he usually reserved for Harry. "And _I_ can see that you, for all your perceptiveness, are just as capable of misjudging other people's motives as your grandfather. Very well, run your errand. But be warned, Persephone: Sirius Black is a convicted murderer. He is not- trustworthy."  


"He's every bit as trustworthy as you are. Don't worry, I can take care of myself."  


In a flash of black robes, Professor Green hurried past Harry and out the oak doors. Numb with shock, Harry decided that he didn't really feel as up to finding Sirius as he had thought. Besides, if Professor Green was going to look for him, it would be pointless for Harry to do the same.   


Somehow--later, he wouldn't clearly remember exactly how--he stole back up to his dormitory undetected. After he had placed the cloak safely in a bottom corner of his trunk, he lay in his four-poster and stared at its hangings for what seemed like years, before he fell asleep.

***

By late February, there was no sign of winter left on the Hogwarts grounds. The weather had been so mild that almost no one noticed when March came, bringing spring with it. By the vernal equinox, as Professor Trelawney called it ("why can't she just call it the first day of spring like everybody else?" an exasperated Ron had queried), Hermione had finally succeeded in convincing Ron and Harry to begin studying for O.W.L.s. She had decided to take thirteen herself, and if she passed, she would match the record for the highest number of O.W.L.s obtained by anyone -- a record held by Dumbledore. Harry and Ron each decided to take eight, a far more reasonable number, and they felt confident that they would pass them all.   


In the weeks following the ball, Harry watched Ron and Hermione with great interest and some amusement. Though almost all their free time was occupied by studying--as Harry's was--they seemed unusually keen to be around each other.   


Even so, they stubbornly refused to admit to anyone that they were dating. Even when Harry asked Ron bluntly one windy day in the greenhouse, he was unable to get a direct reply.  


"Don't know what you're talking about," Ron had said, making a concerted effort to sound offhand.  


"Come on, Ron. It's obvious."  


But Ron had simply reddened and asked Professor Sprout a question about the night-lily bush they were tending. Later, Harry was tempted to pursue the topic, but he was torn. On the one hand, it was obvious that Ron and Hermione were boyfriend and girlfriend; wouldn't they have to make it plain at some point? On the other hand, they didn't seem comfortable talking about it. In the end, Harry gave up, hoping that everything would come out in the open in due time.   


Harry was happy for his friends, but there was also a part of him that missed the days when he and Ron kept almost no secrets from each other. They had been best friends for nearly five years--and technically, they still were--but things were different somehow. In the past, Ron would have rather spent time with Harry than anyone else; now, whenever Ron was around Harry he seemed to be biding his time, waiting to talk to Hermione.  


And Ron and Hermione spent a lot of time together, talking: in the common room, at meals, in the corridors. They made an effort to include Harry, but it was just that--an effort. There was no getting around it. The nature of their friendship had changed.  


Harry remembered last year, when Ron wasn't speaking to him, and how painful Ron's absence had been. He also recalled the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, and how Dumbledore had determined, through whatever means he had used, that Ron was the person that Harry valued most in the world. It had become clear then that Ron was his best friend and Hermione was, for lack of a better term, his back-up. Hermione had always settled for second place with Ron and Harry, even though she had no other friends. Harry couldn't help but wonder whether he was now feeling what she had felt these past five years.  


After some consideration, he accepted these changes; after all, he still had his best friends, didn't he? He would just have to get used to spending a little less time with Ron, being a little less important to Hermione, and pretending not to see when they smiled furtively at each other or laughed at a joke known only to the two of them.   


But it wasn't as though Harry wasn't occupied by distractions of his own. To his constant frustration, he found himself thinking about Ginny more and more. He struck up conversations with her at Quidditch practices; he sought her out from time to time in the common room; he even sat with her at lunch when Ron and Hermione couldn't be found. But she, for her part, didn't seem to regard him with the same unbridled admiration as before. Now she treated him more like a peer than a hero on a pedestal. This was a good thing--he guessed.   


During the time he would have spent with Hermione and Ron, when Ginny wasn't around, Harry studied for the classes he was having the most trouble with. He had begun to make some progress. Geographic Transfiguration no longer gave him problems; instead of transforming into a worm, his quill now cooperated when he tried to move it across the room. Harry's Disillusionment Charm was coming along nicely. And in Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid had been using Fawkes to teach the students about phoenixes -- that was easy stuff.   


Potions, though, was a different story. Snape managed to make his usual treatment of the Gryffindors seem like coddling. The worst part was that Snape seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion about Ron and Hermione that Harry had the night of the ball--that they were a couple. He insisted on separating them and making snide comments during class.  


"Weasley, if you could take your mind off Miss Granger for two seconds, you might be able to dice those ermine whiskers properly."  


"Miss Granger, I am tremendously impressed that you managed to summon the composure to brew a decent Suggestibility Potion despite Mister Weasley's distracting presence."  


And so on, for the length of every Potions class. No one dared to respond to these remarks--not even Ron, though he gritted his teeth and looked as though he might explode with rage. The Slytherins just snickered, while the Gryffindors kept their heads down and tried to do as they were told. Of course, Snape still always managed to find ways to take points from them anyway, to Malfoy's great delight.   


In Defense against the Dark Arts, Professor Green was as good as her word. One day late in March she lined the Gryffindors up on the Quidditch pitch, and began to pace back and forth in front of them. As the students stood silently, she looked at them each in turn. She paced the length of the row of students twice before she spoke.  


"We've spent seven months training, and you've learned a great deal about Muggle self-defense. I'm pleased with your progress. All of you."   


Neville blushed.   


She continued. "I think you're ready to take the next step. Now," she clasped her hands together, "I need a volunteer--anyone?" She glanced at Harry; he returned her look with a resentful scowl.   


"Harry?"  


He sighed. He should have known this was coming. He stepped forward and stood next to Professor Green, barely bothering to conceal his disappointment. "Yes?" The word came out sounding much more irritated than he had intended.  


Professor Green raised an eyebrow for the tiniest fraction of a second, then said, "Stand over there."  


He moved to the spot she had indicated, a few paces to her right, in front of the line of Gryffindors. They faced each other.  


"Yes, very good. Now." She took a deep breath. "Hex me."  


Harry frowned. This time he was completely unable to keep the irritation from his voice. "Hex you? What for? You're just going to kick the wand out of my hand like you did Neville's--"  


"No," she said as she shook her head, "not this time." She drew her wand, held it up for Harry and the entire class to see--and dropped it onto the grass.  


Slightly intrigued, Harry tried to think of an appropriate hex. He still hadn't forgotten the way she had treated Sirius. For that reason alone, nothing would please Harry more than to successfully hex Professor Green, on her orders: he couldn't get in trouble for it! But then, she would be able to read him, to know exactly when he would act. He would have to think quickly--  


Before he had even finished formulating the thought, he had pointed his wand and uttered the hex.  


"_Furnunculo!_"  


For a second, he thought he had her. She looked surprised by the hex, and he had spoken all four syllables before she was able to react. A small green spark shot from the end of Harry's wand. As the class looked on, Professor Green stretched out her bare hands toward the spark, and in the blink of an eye, it had changed direction. It was as though she had raised an invisible shield between herself and the hex; it glanced off the surface of the invisible barrier and struck out toward Neville. He dodged out of the way just in time.  


Once Neville had composed himself, he looked around nervously.   


"Are you alright?" Professor Green asked.  


"Yeah," Neville replied shakily, wiping his palms on his robes.  


Harry moved to take his place with the others.  


"Not yet, Harry. You're going to help me demonstrate."   


Hermione had contained herself for long enough.   


"How--how--did you do that--without a wand?"  


Harry tried not to laugh, but no one else seemed to find Hermione's state of shocked disbelief funny. The rest of the students only nodded, as if they were wondering the same thing; several of them were staring at Professor Green open-mouthed.  


Green began to explain. "I'm sure that all of you recall Professor--er -_Moody's_--lessons on hex deflection last year. For the remainder of this year, you'll be applying what you've learned--except you'll be deflecting hexes and curses _wandlessly_."  


The students stared at each other. Hermione only frowned.  


"It isn't easy," Professor Green continued. "For most wizards, the technique takes years to perfect. All the more reason to get started as quickly as possible."  


They all stared at her as though she were speaking a foreign language. At once, several voices chimed in with different versions of the same question.  


"But wandless magic is strictly controlled--"  


"--most of it's Dark Arts stuff--"  


"My mum would kill me if she knew--"  


"Enough!" Professor Green waved a hand to quiet them. "Yes, well, most wizards do take a rather--er--dim view of any wandless magic that doesn't involve potions or isn't strictly controlled by the Ministry. But Aurors are specifically taught these techniques, and I think we all know that Aurors are not practitioners of the Dark Arts."  


"Aurors were once allowed to use the Unforgivable Curses, too. Are you going to teach us to use them?" To Harry's astonishment, this last sarcastic comment had come from him.  


She looked taken aback--but again, only for a second. "No," she said. "Professor Dumbledore knows everything we do in this class. He personally approved of my plan to teach you wandless hex deflection." She looked around at them. "So if you have problems with it, take them up with him. As for me, well, I hope you don't mind if I proceed to do my job. Now, put your wands in your pockets. Harry, turn and face me again. The rest of you, watch."  


Slowly, they all did as they were told.  


She focused on Harry. "It takes a great deal of concentration. Stretch out your hand, like this--" Harry held his right hand out in front of him-- "and look at me. Pay attention."  


Though it galled him to follow her instructions, he resolved to do everything she said. He wouldn't allow himself to become distracted by a grudge. Getting hexed wouldn't help anyone--not him, not Sirius.   


"You may not have a wand to focus the magic within you, but it's still there. You just have to focus it yourself. You can do it, you simply have to learn how."  


She moved toward him and touched his fingertips with her own. "Here," she said. "Push it all out here. Think of a time when you used magic without a wand." She suddenly turned to the rest of the class. "Everyone. Close your eyes and think of a time."  


Harry closed his eyes. A picture came to mind of his Aunt Marge--well, not _his_ Aunt Marge, Dudley's. She was expanding, and floating toward the ceiling of the Dursleys' house.   


"Remember how you felt when you did that. Now, Harry," she said as he opened his eyes. "Do it again."  


She walked backward a few steps and drew her wand.  


_"Deprivatio!"_  


Everyone gasped. A pale blue burst of what looked like dust issued from the end of Professor Green's wand, and drifted slowly, but directly, toward Harry. She had deliberately chosen a curse that would give him time to react.  


He planted his feet and stood firmly, stretching his hand out toward the little blue cloud. _I don't know how I blew up Aunt Marge,_ he thought frantically, _I just felt--_  


_Anger._ He glanced once at Professor Green, then concentrated all the energy in his mind and body on the ends of his fingers.  


The curse slowed down, but stayed on course. He must concentrate, he must turn it around--it was closer now, but almost at a dead stop. Harry considered moving out of the way, but in a last fit of stubbornness, he concentrated with all his might on sending the shimmering pale blue cloud off in a different direction.  


When it reached him, it had nearly stopped moving--nearly. It made contact with his fingers first, and before he could get away, it had surrounded his hand, his arm, and finally, his whole body.  


Everything went black. He was conscious, but he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel anything. No, it was more like there was nothing to see, to hear, to feel anymore ... nothing existed except for this blackness ... his panic reached fever pitch, but he couldn't hear himself scream or feel his heart pounding within his chest.   


"Harry!"  


All of a sudden, a blue sky lurched into view before him, framed by eight alarmed faces staring down. One of the faces--Ron's--rolled its eyes exasperatedly.  


"Why didn't you move out of the way?"  


Harry didn't answer. Everyone cleared off as he stood up.  


"What was that?" he muttered. His heart was still racing--he was relieved to notice that he could feel it again.   


"Deprivatus Curse," Hermione answered. "Harry--what was it like? I've only read about it, but it looked awful."  


"Completely disables all your senses," Professor Green explained. "I picked it because I knew it would move slowly. But," she said tentatively, almost apologetically, "I thought you'd get out of the way--"  


"You didn't think I'd stop it, then?" he asked defiantly.  


She looked incredulous. "No! Of course not. I never dreamed you'd come as close as you did. I would have been insane to think you could stop it--to think any of you could, on your first day. That was--remarkable."  


Inspired by Harry's success, the rest of the class paired off and practiced deflecting each other's hexes. Unfortunately, they had a much more difficult time of it. Lavender Brown fell flat on her face when she was hit by Neville's Leg-Locker Curse--when Seamus laughed at her, she refused to speak to him for the rest of the class period.   


By the end of class, Dean's face was covered with purple splotches and Parvati had ears like a house-elf--they both left the field and walked directly to the hospital wing. Ron was luckier; he had simply developed a persistent case of hiccups. Hermione had managed to dodge all the curses thrown her way. Harry, though, had progressed enough to stop a slow curse cold in its tracks.  


As they walked out the gate to the Quidditch pitch, they discussed the day's lesson in hushed tones.  


"Well, I suppose she's preparing us the best way she knows how," Hermione said. "After all, Professor Moody put the Imperius on us last year, that wasn't exactly above-board, was it?"  


"Professor _Moody?_" Harry cried. "That wasn't Moody! It was a _Death Eater,_ Hermione!"  


Hermione and Ron were both taken aback by the defiance in Harry's tone. "Hey, what's with you?" Ron asked. "You don't think she's--"  


"I don't know. But something's not right. I'll tell you one thing--I don't trust her."  


They hadn't taken two steps before they heard Professor Green's voice from behind them. "Excuse me." They stopped and looked around, exchanging embarrassed glances, hoping she hadn't overheard their conversation.   


She quickened her pace in order to catch them. "You all did very well today. Especially you, Hermione."  


Hermione blushed slightly. "Thank you."  


Professor Green strode up alongside them and continued walking. They matched her pace, heading toward the castle. "I haven't seen Professor Thorne very much this week, and I was wondering whether you and he have made any progress on that scroll?"  


"Oh. Well, not much." Hermione shook her head in disappointment. "He's identified the dialect, and we've both put in a lot of time on it, but the translation is very spotty. We simply don't know what all the words mean, you see"   


"But I don't understand. Aren't there a lot of writings in that language?"  


Hermione looked up at her. "In a sense, yes. There are lots of writings in ancient Hebrew, which is closely related. And they're useful, but they're mostly _Muggle_ writings. They simply don't use the same vocabulary as the scroll. It would be like a group of Muggles trying to translate _this_ into another language--" she reached back into her bookbag and pulled out _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_-- "with none of us here to tell the Muggles what _Alohomora_ means."  


"But most spells are traceable back to _some_ known language--if not English, then Latin, Greek--"  


"Right," Hermione said, anticipating Professor Green's argument, "But in the case of the scroll, the languages the spells come from are likely even _older_ than the language of the scroll itself. We don't even know which languages the spells are taken from. They could be taken from all kinds of dialects--unwritten ones at that--which would make it nearly impossible to decipher the spells' meanings using the scroll alone."   


Together they climbed the steps to the castle. Hermione frowned. "It's _really_ aggravating. Professor Thorne's terribly frustrated."  


"I would imagine so," Green answered, thoughtfully. "Well, please do keep me informed."  


"Of course."  


Once they had reached the first-floor landing, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned toward Gryffindor Tower. Professor Green stopped them.  


"Harry, I wonder if I could see you in my office for a moment."  


Harry glanced questioningly at Ron and Hermione. They responded with blank looks.  


"Actually, we're due in Divination in an hour--we need to change--" Ron began. Harry couldn't tell whether he had convinced Ron that there was reason to distrust Professor Green, or whether Ron was simply trying to prevent him from making any more sarcastic comments and getting himself in trouble.  


_I may not trust Green, but I'm not afraid of her,_ Harry thought. "Ron, will you tell Professor Trelawney that I'll be a few minutes late?" Harry asked casually. As Professor Green started down the corridor that led to her office, he turned and followed her.  


Startled, Ron opened his mouth to say something else, but Hermione grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, Ron," she said through gritted teeth. "You don't want to be late."  


They walked to the end of the corridor, and where they should have made a right turn, Professor Green stopped.  


"Is he alright?"  


Harry was nonplussed. "You mean S--"  


"Yes," she interrupted. "Judging from your attitude, I assume that you've seen him. I--haven't. I just want to know how he is."  


Harry didn't answer for a few seconds, noticing with satisfaction how uncomfortable she seemed. Finally, he told her the truth. "He's fine."   


She looked relieved. "Good." Then she looked around briefly, and continued, "Well, it's obvious that he's told you. I don't blame you for being angry with me, Harry, but you have to understand, there are two sides to the story."  


Suddenly, Harry didn't want to hear any more. "I think I'd better catch up with Ron after all," he said coldly. "I'm a bit behind in Divination."  


As he walked away, she called, "What about Ginny?"  


He stopped, and wheeled around. "What? What about her?"  


She walked up to him, glanced around again, and lowered her voice. "How long did she like you before you noticed her? Was it your fault that you didn't return her feelings?"  


"That was different!" he cried indignantly.  


"Different because it was _you_," she answered. "Think about it." There was a pause while they regarded each other. Then she said, "enjoy Divination," and walked away.  
**  
**

***  


**Author's Note:** Apologies to all you Lily/Snape bashers -- you're just gonna have to live with it. :) Thanks to R.J. Anderson, who was kind enough to let me borrow her night-lilies for this chapter, and to w1zzard, who introduced me to the concept behind the Deprivatus Curse. And as always, thanks to everyone on the HPC for their excellent comments!  


Reviews make my day! Please review. 


	27. Gryffindor Vs. Ravenclaw

  


Harry was so busy keeping up with classes and studying for O.W.L.s that the last Quidditch match of the year seemed to come upon him without warning.   


"We're in second place, as far as points are concerned," Angelina explained during breakfast the morning of the match. "Slytherin's seven hundred thirty points ahead of us." She looked down at her plate disappointedly. "Obviously we don't have much of a chance of winning the Quidditch Cup. But--" she brightened-- "Ravenclaw's twenty points behind us, so if we play hard, we can take second place, at least."   


"I know," Harry answered. Angelina had explained all of this- repeatedly--during the week's practices. She was obviously frustrated at having virtually no chance at winning the Cup, and thought about it often. Over the past week, however, she seemed to have resigned herself to the fact, and now sat chewing her bacon with a subdued air.   


Harry looked around. The Great Hall was filled with the buzz of excited students discussing the end of the season. Even though Slytherin was practically a lock to win the Cup, everyone wore either blue rosettes, for Ravenclaw, or red, for Gryffindor--except the Slytherins themselves.   


They wore green rosettes--along with expressions of disdain and defiance. The tensions between the houses had become so rancorous that the Slytherins even refused to support Ravenclaw, despite the proud Slytherin tradition of supporting any house that opposed Gryffindor.   


The one good thing about losing the Cup was that Harry wasn't nervous about the match--on the contrary, he was actually looking forward to it. Over the past few weeks, Quidditch had become a welcome escape from academic pressures, concerns about his friendship with Ron and Hermione, and tension between himself and his teachers--specifically, Professors Green and Snape.  


"Good," Angelina answered. "Ravenclaw's got a decent team this year, but no one's got a better Seeker than us." She winked at him.  


"Or a better Keeper either," Fred put in, patting Ginny on the back so hard that she nearly choked on her cantaloupe.  


"Oi! Fred!" Ginny protested, coughing. But she reddened a bit, and an embarrassed grin showed through her scowl. The shade of scarlet in her cheeks was rather cute, Harry found himself thinking. He turned abruptly back to Angelina.  


"You alright, Ginny?" Angelina looked at her, a bit concerned. Harry knew Angelina wasn't asking about the cantaloupe; she was remembering the match against Slytherin.   


"Yes. I'm ready. Can we just get out to the field, please?" Ginny answered with a note of irritation in her voice.  


The others nodded their assent. The Gryffindor team stood up and, after receiving a volley of "good luck" shouts from their housemates, they began to file out of the Great Hall.  


As Harry followed his teammates through the doorway leading to the entrance hall, he was jostled from behind. He turned around. Draco Malfoy grinned back at him broadly, while Crabbe and Goyle stood close behind and snickered.  


"Sorry about that, Potter," Malfoy said, not looking sorry at all. "But as long as I'm here, I might as well say: it's a shame about Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch Cup, isn't it? But I guess it was inevitable. Your team had one winning year, but the real winners always find their way back at the top, don't they?"  


Harry concealed his anger, and affected a thoughtful look. "You know, I think you're right. That _does_ make me feel better, Draco. Thanks." He smiled brightly.  


Malfoy was not amused. "Funny. Well, we'll see who's laughing when Dumbledore hands the Cup to the Slytherin team." He looked into the distance and sighed. "I can't wait to tell Father. I reckon he might even buy me that Twigger 95 I've had my eye on--it's the very latest thing, you know. Well, see you later, Potter." The three of them brushed past Harry and sauntered out of the hall.  


"Ooooh, that little toad really burns me up," said a voice to Harry's right. Cho had evidently caught the tail end of Harry's conversation with Malfoy on her way out. Her Ravenclaw teammates surged past, making their way into the entrance hall. Harry looked around; the Gryffindors were already gone. He turned back to Cho, registering what she had said with mild amusement.  


"Tell me about it," he answered.  


"Wouldn't you just love to wipe that smirk right off his pointy little face?" Her eyes were narrowed in an expression of profound dislike.  


"Oh, yeah," he said.  


Suddenly Cho started, as though she had been hit by an invisible Bludger. "Harry," she said slowly, "what if there were a way that we could?"  


Harry was nonplussed. "But there's not. He's right--Slytherin's seven hundred thirty points up." He shrugged. "I'd say it's pretty unlikely that either team could score that many points in one match. You and I are both good enough Seekers that one of us would catch the Snitch way before--"  


He stopped. Cho's face broke into a huge smile. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"  


He spoke slowly, comprehension dawning on him. "The match doesn't end--"  


"--until one of us ends it!" she finished excitedly.   


He was still unsure. "But--is that allowed?"  


She shrugged. "It's not against the rules. Anyway, the Slytherins didn't exactly follow the rules when they racked up that seven hundred fifty point lead--sorry, thirty for you--did they?"  


"But Angelina really wants to win. I couldn't do that to the others, I couldn't intentionally lose the match."  


She shook her head, "No, no. I'm not asking you to. I think we can still work out a way to make the match fair between us."   


He was intrigued.  


She smiled, then looked at him with mock-thoughtfulness and put an arm around his shoulder. "I have a feeling that the Snitch is going to be uncommonly difficult to catch today, Harry." She ushered him out of the Great Hall, and began quietly to explain her plan.  


***  


"What were you talking to Cho about?" Ginny asked as the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams took their places on the field.  


"Oh. Nothing," Harry replied, hoping very hard that he sounded convincing.  


She eyed him suspiciously but said nothing as they lined up facing the Ravenclaws.  


"Captains, shake hands!" Madame Hooch cried, thinly veiling her own excitement. The last match of the season was always especially important, and Madame Hooch's enthusiasm for the sport of Quidditch could not be quelled, even by Slytherin's staggering lead.  


Angelina shook Roger Davies' hand amicably. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and the fifteen of them left the ground at once.  


Lee Jordan's voice boomed out over the pitch and through the stands. "And it's Gryffindor in possession of the Quaffle! Alicia Spinnet dodges past Ravenclaw Keeper Arminius Archer, and--Gryffindor scores!"  


The Gryffindor side of the stands erupted in cheers. Harry looked down to see a huge banner flashing a red lion and the words, "Go Gryffindor!" Just beneath it stood Ron, Hermione, Neville, and the other fifth-years, raising their fists in the air and whooping with joy. On the other side of the stands, a blinking blue banner bore an eagle drawn in white, and the words, "Come on, Ravenclaw, you're doing pretty well this season so let's have a decent showing for once."  


Cho flew just behind Harry, appearing to mark him, evidently waiting for him to spot the Snitch.  


Gryffindor scored five more times, and Ravenclaw twice, before the Golden Snitch appeared. When it winked into view high above the Ravenclaw goalposts, a few in the crowd gasped and pointed; soon everyone saw it.  


Harry started toward it instantly. Anyone in the crowd below, or in the air around him, would have thought he was flying at breakneck speed--he was the only one who knew that the Firebolt could have flown just a bit faster, and even now he could be closing his fingers around the Snitch.  


It worked--he reached the Snitch just a fraction of a second after it whizzed out of sight again.  


The Gryffindor crowd let out a disappointed groan, while the Ravenclaws cheered. Harry turned around to see Cho, following hard at his tail and barely restraining a smile.  


"That's alright, Harry, you'll get it next time," George called cheerfully.  


"Thanks," Harry answered.  


Meanwhile, Katie Bell had scored once more, taking advantage of the Ravenclaw Keeper's distraction at the appearance of the Snitch.   


The rest of the players refocused their attention on the Quaffle and Bludgers, and the match went on.  


Gryffindor scored six more times, while Ravenclaw only scored once, thanks to Ginny's lightning-fast Double Eight Loop, which effectively blocked three separate shots by the Ravenclaw team. The Gryffindor spectators--including Lee Jordan--shouted with glee each time the Quaffle glanced off Ginny's arm, or leg, or even, one time, her head. Finally, the Snitch made another appearance. This time, Cho was slightly closer to it. She and Harry both raced toward the Snitch from different directions, but at the last second, she veered in front of him in an apparent attempt to block him. He swerved out of the way, and she resumed her course--but in the extra time it had taken her to block, and him to react, the Snitch had disappeared again.  


Nearby, Angelina swore under her breath. "It's that girl and his wretched crush again. Hey, Harry!" she called. "Oliver was right, you know--you have no friends on the Quidditch pitch! THAT GOES FOR GIRLFRIENDS, TOO!"  


Cho giggled madly, while Harry simply blushed and flew to the other side of the pitch. He snuck a glance at Ginny. She was looking at him, and her jaw was set, but her eyes were flashing. She turned and eyed the Ravenclaw Chasers hurtling toward her  


"You mean that, Angelina?" Fred called, and winked at Katie.   


Angelina turned on him. "Fred, not now!" she yelled, obviously not in the mood for jokes.  


"Blimey, I guess she did mean it," George put in, as he and Fred both swung at the same Bludger, sending it straight toward the Ravenclaw Chaser in possession of the Quaffle.  


"Dopplebeater Defense!" Lee shouted. "And Shah drops the Quaffle, which is picked up by--Bell! And GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"  


The game went on like this, with the Chasers scoring, and Harry and Cho narrowly missing the Snitch each time it returned. Usually Cho appeared to get in Harry's way, with Harry then swerving to avoid colliding with her. Once they really did collide, and spun off in opposite directions, though the 'accident' looked far worse than it had actually been.  


After three hours of this, the players--and the crowd--were exhausted. But as the match wore on, their fatigue grew into anticipation. A few in the stands realized that both teams were almost within reach of Slytherin's lead, and as word spread throughout the stadium, the crowd became reinvigorated.  


"This is insane!" Angelina cried excitedly during a timeout. "I mean, Harry, you need to catch that Snitch, but--my word!--we could almost _win the Quidditch Cup!"_   


"Yeah, who would have thought it?" Harry put in innocently.  


Angelina didn't appear to hear him. "Even if Ravenclaw won it, at least it wouldn't go to Slytherin. In any case," she rambled breathlessly, "Harry, wait for us to score three more times before catching the Snitch, if you can."  


"I'll try," Harry answered, fighting back a wild urge to giggle.  


Directly across from Harry in the huddle, Ginny stared at him thoughtfully. She said nothing. The team members each returned to their places, and the game continued.  


"And the score is Gryffindor, five hundred sixty, Ravenclaw four hundred ninety," Lee Jordan said. His voice had acquired a scratchy kind of edge to it after three and a half hours of announcing. "Let's just hope these Seekers get it together before we all fall asleep--ouch! Alright, sorry, Professor.  


"Wait, I've just received something--I'm told that Slytherin's lead for the Quidditch Cup has dwindled to a mere hundred seventy points!" He began to shout excitedly, apparently forgetting his tired vocal cords. "Ladies and gentlemen, we may have an upset on our hands!"  


From amidst the cheers, a strangled cry rose up from the stands. Harry looked down to see an indignant Draco Malfoy shaking his fist in the air, apparently too angry for words. Harry and Cho exchanged grins of sublime satisfaction.  


Angelina scored next, followed by Katie. Then Ginny put up a brilliant block on a shot by a Ravenclaw Chaser named Hodges, after which Angelina scored again--putting Gryffindor within range for the Quidditch Cup.  


Angelina looked at Harry and nodded, giving him implicit permission to catch the Snitch. He nodded back, but hers wasn't the signal he was looking for. He turned to Cho, who smiled and nodded. He grinned.  


Now it was a real match. He had to keep his eyes open, because from now on, Cho would go for the Snitch in earnest. And if she caught it, Ravenclaw would win.  


They didn't have to wait long. But, even though Harry was looking as hard as he could for the golden gleam of the Snitch against the brilliant blue backdrop of sky, he heard it before he saw it. A whizzing sound passed close behind his head, and he turned around to see the Snitch passing Cho, who wore a rather startled look on her face.  


The race was on. Fortunately, Cho hadn't seen the Snitch coming either. But on the other hand, she was in a better position to catch it than Harry was. They both hurtled towards it, gaining speed as they closed in. Harry was right behind Cho--she was so close to the Snitch! A second before he overtook her, he ducked underneath her, reached up, and caught it.  


She was almost fast enough--she was so close, in fact, that she closed her hand a fraction of a second after he did. But she only found herself clutching his closed fist, which in turn held the Golden Snitch.  


Madame Hooch blew her whistle. Cho let go, conceding the Ravenclaws' defeat, and the players landed. Harry held up the Snitch for everyone to see. The roar of the crowd--particularly the Gryffindor side--was deafening. The Ravenclaws cheered politely, despite their disappointment.   


Their dissatisfaction, however, was nothing to that of the Slytherins, who wore open-mouthed expressions of abject horror. 

Gryffindors piled onto the field to congratulate their team; Harry could see instantly that the horde was headed for him. He looked around, and caught sight of Ginny, her hair windblown and tangled, and her robes soaked with sweat. She smiled at him wearily. Before the ecstatic crowd could reach Harry and pull him onto their shoulders, he turned to her. She opened her mouth to say something to him, but before she got the chance, he grabbed her around the waist and picked her up off the ground.   


"What are you doing?" she cried as the throng surrounded them, yelling, jumping, and laying hands on players' shoulders in congratulation.  


Ginny was small, but Harry wasn't much bigger. "George! Fred!" he called. They rushed to his aid, and a second later Ginny was on the shoulders of the crowd, being borne off the field.  


Suddenly Harry felt himself swallowed up within the crush of a huge, bearlike hug. It was Hagrid. "Brilliant, Harry!" was all he said.   


Hermione was in tears. Ron followed the crowd and shouted, "that's my sister! _My sister!"_ Even Lee Jordan was on the field, attempting to add his shouts to those of the crowd. He jumped around frenetically and mouthed what Harry guessed were happy words, not seeming to notice that his voice was now completely gone.  


Suddenly another voice cut through the crowd, and Harry recognized it with instinctive distaste. "Madame Hooch! It's not fair, I tell you! They did it on purpose! They were conspiring before the match! THEY DID IT ON PURPOSE!"  


Just outside the joyous fray, Madame Hooch held up her wand to silence Malfoy. He was obviously livid.  


"Mister Malfoy, if you can cite a rule that was broken in this match, you will have the chance to challenge the outcome. Now, please excuse me while I locate Professor Dumbledore and the Cup."  


Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looked balefully around at the happy crowd, and stormed off the field in a huff.  


Ten minutes later, Dumbledore presented the Quidditch Cup to the Gryffindor team. Due to her pivotal role in the match, and the fact that this was her first year on the team, they had unanimously agreed to force Ginny to accept it from him. She blushed violently as she shook Dumbledore's hand, and then held the Cup high above her head. The crowd- Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs now, with hardly a Slytherin to be seen anywhere--erupted in cheers.  


***  


"I don't think I've ever seen such a high-scoring game," Ron mused as he, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry made their way back to the castle.  


"Yes. I suppose Cho's found a pretty effective blocking strategy, eh Harry?" Hermione asked.  


"Yeah, I guess so," he answered.  


Ginny smiled to herself for a moment. Then, "Harry, could I talk to you for a second?" she asked tentatively.  


Harry's heart did a supremely annoying backflip inside his chest. Ron and Hermione looked at each other; Hermione looked as though she might be fighting back a giggle. "Sure," Harry answered.   


"We'll catch you two later," Ron called as he and Hermione left Harry and Ginny behind. When they had walked out of earshot, Ginny turned to Harry.  


"You did that on purpose, didn't you? You and Cho," she said.  


"What?" Harry tried to look surprised. Ginny laughed.  


"Nice try. Don't worry, I won't tell. It's not strictly against the rules anyway, but I figure Angelina might kill you for not letting her in on your little plan."  


"What plan? What is there to tell? We just had a tough time catching the Snitch, is all." But even as he protested, Harry couldn't resist smiling.  


"Right. Well, it was very clever. I just wanted to let you know."  


She smiled back. The excited rush that Harry had felt when the team had won the Quidditch Cup was nothing to the warm flood of contentment that spread through him at that moment. Oddly, it reminded him of the Patronus Charm. A fleeting thought flashed through his mind--he knew he would have a new memory the next time he cast it.   


She turned away from him and headed up the lawn toward the castle. He followed.  


"Say, Ginny, where are you going?"  


She cocked her head to one side and looked at him quizzically. "Common room, of course! It's Fred and George's last victory party!"  


The victory party, of course--Harry had forgotten. "Oh, right. Well, wait up then!"  


She slowed her pace. "Sure," she answered. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she reached out and clasped his hand within her own. Together they crossed the lawn, entered the castle, and wound their way up the staircases to Gryffindor Tower.

***

"Something's definitely going on."  


The day after the Quidditch final, Harry and Sirius sat in Dumbledore's otherwise-empty office--they had taken to meeting here ever since the night of the Valentine's Ball. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. The former Headmasters and Headmistresses, who had at first been indignant at having to share their quarters with a convicted murderer, seemed to have warmed up to Sirius. At the moment they were snoozing contentedly. At his perch, Fawkes dropped a tuft of gray feathers; he looked as though he might erupt in flames at any moment.  


"_What's_ going on? Does anyone know?" Harry asked.  


"No," Sirius answered. "Same as before. That's what's so frustrating." He stood up and began to pace before the fire. "Snape's spoken to Dumbledore--he's said that Voldemort's cut him off, won't see him any more. That's all we know."  


Harry considered this. "But that doesn't necessarily mean anything."  


Sirius stopped pacing and turned to him. "Harry, you're not thinking. This is Voldemort we're talking about. He keeps up contact with Snape throughout the school year, tries to get inside information about what's going on here at Hogwarts, and then all of a sudden, he cuts Snape off? It's not right. It does mean something--it means that something is about to happen."  


"But surely someone knows where he is! There's got to be some way of spying--"  


"No, that's just it. We know where he _was_, but he's disappeared without a trace. He's a slippery old snake." Sirius regarded Harry gravely. "You haven't been having any _dreams,_ have you?"  


Coming from anyone else, Harry would have taken this as an insult or an accusation. But coming from Sirius, he knew it was an honest question.  


"No," he answered. "Not for a few months."  


Sirius looked thoughtful. "Well, that's something, but it doesn't tell us much. You'll let me--no, Dumbledore--know if anything unusual does happen, won't you?"  


Harry nodded as he stood up to leave. "Of course. If you promise to tell me as soon as you know anything."  


"Absolutely. And Harry," Sirius called. Harry turned around, his hand on the door. "Nice job at the Quidditch final, by the way."  


"Thanks," Harry grinned appreciatively.  


Sirius opened his mouth to speak, then paused a moment before saying anything. "You're not--scared, are you?" he asked. This, too, Harry would have taken as an insult coming from anyone else.  


But since it had come from his godfather, Harry considered the question. He searched himself and found that, actually, he wasn't scared. He was curious--he wanted to know what was going on. And he was angry. But not afraid. "No," he said.  


"I thought not." Sirius nodded solemnly. "You really are your father's son, Harry."  


The words struck Harry with a force he hadn't anticipated. He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say in return.  


But the moment passed, and Sirius smiled, glancing at an ancient clock on the mantelpiece. "He always put off studying, too. Go on, now. I'll see you later."  


Harry nodded, and closed the door.  


***  


That night was unseasonably chilly for the month of May. Remembering that their run with Professor Green was scheduled for 6 o'clock the next morning, Harry, Ron, and Hermione each packed up their books and trundled off to bed earlier than usual.   


In the boys' dormitory, Ron sat down on his bed and shivered. The legs of his maroon paisley pajamas seemed to have shrunk since last year: now they only reached down to his calves.   


"Bit chilly, isn't it?" Ron remarked, rubbing his arms to warm himself.  


"Yeah," Harry agreed. He glanced out the window. It was a clear, but moonless night. Stars twinkled in the inky sky--from the looks of it, it could have been midsummer or dead of winter. He curled up under his quilt. "Goodnight."  


"Goodnight," Ron answered. Harry stared and the ceiling and felt his eyelids growing heavier. He had spent so many hours studying that he could still see the Latin names of plants swimming before him in the darkness: _Conium maculatum. Mandragora officinarum. Valeriana officinalis..._  


Slowly, the letters rearranged themselves, growing taller and thicker, sprouting leaves until they looked like trees. Harry walked through the trees, weaving between them, until he came to the wood's edge. Before him, a very wide, grassy area opened up. A short distance away, through the grass, stood a garden wall, covered in ivy.   


Harry approached the wall and felt along its surface until he found an opening, a kind of gateway crowned with a stone arch. He walked through it.  


Once he was inside the garden, Harry was dazzled by the glow of firelight. As his eyes adjusted to it, he saw shadows flickering off a stone wall to his right. This place looked familiar somehow, but he was unsure why. It was the most unsettling feeling, like having a word on the tip of your tongue and being unable to recall it.   


He turned to his left. A very large cauldron sat atop a fire--the source of the light. Only when he saw the fire did Harry hear the crackling of the branches fueling it. This scene, too, seemed familiar, but this one Harry was able to place: the cauldron reminded him of the one from which he had seen Voldemort rise, in a small-town churchyard, one year ago.  


Three figures stood before the cauldron, facing away from Harry. One was short, and although Harry could not see his face, he noticed the gleam that came from his right hand--a magical hand. Peter Pettigrew.   


Another figure was tall and thin; when he turned sideways, Harry saw the skin so white it was nearly silver; the eyes like slits; the thin, nearly lipless mouth. In a convulsive shock of mingled horror and hatred, Harry realized that it was Lord Voldemort himself.   


The third figure stood between them. He was taller than Pettigrew, but shorter than Voldemort, and his back directly faced Harry. With the firelight behind the figure, nothing about his appearance was discernible to Harry--he couldn't even tell what color hair the man had.  


Voldemort spoke, in a dreadfully familiar, high-pitched voice that oozed malice.  


"My new servant will assist me very well, I think. Better, even, than you, Wormtail. Though that is hardly saying much."  


"Master," Pettigrew said. His voice still sounded petulant, but a bit more weary than the last time Harry had heard it. "I gave up my own right hand for you, willingly."  


"No more than you owed me, after your unfaithfulness!" Voldemort spat. "But," he mused, more calmly, "I will admit, your sacrifice was very useful. This one's sacrifice, though--" he reached out, grabbed the figure to his right by the arm, and turned him to the side-- "will be absolutely _essential_ to my immortality." Unexpectedly, he laughed--the shrill, mirthless laugh that had rung in Harry's ears for the past year. "Finally! _I will be immortal!"_  


As the anonymous figure abruptly turned to face Voldemort, a pair of long braids flung out and came to rest again. Harry took in the blank green eyes, the familiar face, and, running along the side of her neck, the long, thin scar.  


"Harry!"  


Harry sat bolt upright in bed. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heart pounding furiously. He rubbed his forehead; cold sweat soaked his hair.  


"We've overslept! It's time for our run," Ron said, tying his shoelace and not noticing Harry's panicked state. "Better get up now, or you'll be late." At the far end of the room, Seamus and Neville were hurriedly putting on their running shoes.  


Harry didn't even try to explain. He jumped out of bed and dashed down the stairs to the common room before Ron even knew that he was really awake.  


"Caramel apple!" Harry shouted at the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, hoping intensely that the password hadn't been changed since yesterday afternoon.  


The gargoyle leapt aside.  


Harry sprinted up the winding staircase and, upon reaching the top, cast caution and etiquette to the wind and flung the door wide. To his surprise, Professor Dumbledore stood in his office, awake and dressed in his everyday clothes. Professors Snape and McGonagall were there, too. The three of them turned and stared at Harry as he burst through the doorway.  


"I'm sorry, Professor. But it's urgent, it's--it's Professor Green."  


Professor McGonagall found her voice first. "Potter!" she cried, a bit hoarsely.  


"It's alright, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said, waving a hand to quiet her. He turned to Harry.   


"Harry, we know. Professor Green is missing."

***

**Author's Note:** This is where it gets weird. :)  


Thanks are due to all the reviewers. Can I just say that I love reviews? You guys are great!  


Thanks are also due to the crew at the HPC: wolf, Lyda, R.J., Scribe, Siria, Ellen, Kalatern, and everyone I'm forgetting! Thanks!  


Super-special thanks go to Mellie, who informed me that Ravenclaw definitely could not win the Quidditch Cup. She was right, of course.  


This world and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, who (we all hope) will very soon finish writing Book 5 and invalidate this entire story! Yeah! 


	28. The Disappearance

Harry simply stood and stared at the three Professors before him. Snape paced the length of the room, much as Sirius had done the previous afternoon. Professor McGonagall stood as though rooted to the floor, hands covering her mouth, looking stricken. Dumbledore was the only one who returned Harry's gaze; he looked wizened and weary. The lines in his face seemed to have deepened since Harry had last seen him--but, Harry thought, of course that was impossible. Dumbledore gestured toward the armchair closest to Harry.  


"Harry, sit down."  


Harry did as he was instructed.   


Dumbledore took a seat opposite Harry and began to explain. "Actually, Winky the house-elf was the one who told us. She went to visit Professor Green late last night--apparently the two of them had struck up a kind of friendship--and she noticed that Professor Green wasn't anywhere in the castle."  


Harry wondered how Winky could have known this, without the help of something like the Marauder's Map. Then he remembered that house-elves have their own powerful brand of magic--maybe they possessed a kind of magical radar for locating people.  


"Winky thought nothing of it," Professor Dumbledore continued, "assuming that Professor Green must have gone out to Hogsmeade or possibly on a quick visit home. So, Winky went to bed without giving it a thought. But when she woke up this morning, Professor Green was still nowhere to be found.  


"She reported Professor Green's absence to me just a few minutes ago. I thought this report odd--in fact, I was so concerned that I summoned Severus and Minerva at once, to see what they knew about Professor Green's whereabouts. They know nothing. Now, you have arrived to confirm my suspicions--haven't you?"  


Slowly, Harry nodded. His heart heavy within his chest, he told Professor Dumbledore everything he could remember about the dream. He fought to recall every detail. As he reached the end, the part where he recognized Professor Green, he hesitated. 

Dumbledore's own granddaughter, a Death Eater--how could Harry tell the old wizard something like this? Dumbledore might be a fearless leader but, after all, he was a worried grandfather as well.  


In the end, Harry didn't have to tell him. As he began to describe the middle figure before the cauldron, Snape interrupted Harry in mid syllable, fuming.  


"This is absurd! Professor Green was an Auror for fifteen years, and a teacher at this school these past nine months. In all that time, she has given us no reason to question her loyalty! I refuse to believe that she has gone over to the Dark Side solely based on the testimony of--" he pointed at Harry accusingly-- "_that boy!"_  


"Severus," Professor McGonagall broke in. She was coming out of a deep reverie, and had an air of growing determination about her. "We have limited information from which to draw our conclusions, and Harry has no reason to lie. I understand your motivation--you spied on Voldemort for the past nine months, it must be a terrible disappointment to learn that one of our own colleagues was helping him all the while--but this is the only intelligence we have. And I, for one, believe that Harry is telling the truth."  


Harry listened, and nodded, heartened by Professor McGonagall's faith in him. Snape looked indignantly at Dumbledore.  


"Ridiculous!" Snape spat. His dark eyes gleamed with cold fury, and he lowered his voice. "We all know that Potter craves being the center of attention. Since he has come to this school, has _one year_ passed when he hasn't been favored, coddled, cooed over by students--and teachers--alike?" At this, Dumbledore raised an eyebrow; Snape refocused his baleful glare in Professor McGonagall's direction.  


Quite suddenly, Harry grew indignant. His face burning, he turned toward Snape. He had had enough.  


"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Harry shouted. "Is it _my_ fault that Voldemort always seems to be after me? You think I _wanted_ to be entered into that Tournament last year? You think I'd _rather_ have people like Fudge thinking I'm some sort of crazed Lockhart-in-training? For someone who likes to tell people not to talk about what they don't know, you seem to be doing a lot of it!"   


Professor McGonagall stared at Harry, open-mouthed. He didn't care; he was rather surprised at his boldness himself, but he was too angry to stop now.  


"You want to think that I'm lying about that dream? Fine! But I'm telling the truth--Green was there, I saw her!"  


Snape's eyes were bulging. His jaw was set and his fists were clenched, as though they would like nothing better than to rip Harry limb from limb.  


Still staring at Harry, Snape said, in a very slow, measured tone, "Headmaster. Surely you can't believe this nonsense?"  


Harry turned to the old wizard, who now stood before the fire, examining it thoughtfully. His expression was difficult to read. His voice, when he spoke, was tight with what Harry could only guess was restrained emotion. Exactly which emotion--grief, anger, or fear--it was impossible to tell.  


"I think," he said, turning to the three of them, "that Harry is telling the truth." Snape made an impatient noise and turned away very quickly, but said nothing.   


"But," Dumbledore added, "we do not know that Professor McGonagall's conclusion about Persephone's loyalties is correct. One of the many unfortunate lessons we all learned during Voldemort's rise to power was that, as long as there are Dark wizards willing to use the Imperius Curse, we can never be sure of anyone's motivations, however suspicious their actions may seem. In any event, it is clear that we must act. Especially in light of Harry's report that Voldemort is on the verge of gaining immortality--we cannot stand idly by, arguing amongst ourselves, while he destroys any chance we might have of defeating him."  


Professor McGonagall stared quizzically at Dumbledore, while Snape turned toward him with renewed attention. A hint of resentment lingered on Snape's face; only now, it was mingled with interest.  


"Assuming Harry's impression is correct, it would appear that Voldemort's latest effort involves--" Dumbledore's voice wavered slightly-- "Persephone--somehow. If we are to find out how Voldemort intends to gain immortality, and if we are to stop him, then we must find her."  


Snape glanced at Harry, then back at Dumbledore. For once, Harry thought he knew what was going on beneath that curtain of greasy hair: Snape was torn between supporting Dumbledore in his effort to find Green, and his own refusal to believe that Harry was telling the truth about his dream. After a moment's deliberation, Snape turned once again to Dumbledore.  


"Yes," he said quietly, slowly. "Of course, you're right."  


"Yes," Professor McGonagall chimed in. "Albus, how should we proceed?"  


"I think the first thing we must do," Dumbledore answered thoughtfully, "is to send Harry off to class."  


***  


Harry skulked into the library and glanced from table to table. After a moment, found what he was looking for: a head of blazing orange hair hovering next to a bushy brown one. Fortunately, there was an open seat across from Ron and Hermione.  


"Where've you been?" Hermione whispered anxiously as Harry sat down next to her. She didn't wait for him to answer. "Harry, it was the strangest thing, you'll never guess--Professor Green didn't meet us by the lake! No one did, in fact. We just sort of--ran on our own." She shrugged.  


"Well, that's not exactly true, is it?" Ron challenged sulkily. "You _made_ us run."  


"I was the only prefect there! Somebody had to--"  


Ron rolled his eyes, but he also let out a good-natured groan that gave out the slightest hint of amusement. He turned to Harry.  


"So, where were you?" Ron asked eagerly. He and Hermione stared expectantly, giving him their full attention.  


Harry breathed a sigh of relief at finally having an opening in the conversation; he leaned toward them conspiratorially.  


He told Ron and Hermione all about the dream, and about his meeting with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape. Hermione gasped when Harry described the scene before the cauldron in his dream, and again when he told them how he had barged right into Dumbledore's office. When Harry had finished his story, Ron and Hermione leaned back in their chairs, looking a bit pale; Hermione's hands covered her mouth.  


"That's awful!" she whispered finally. "What are they going to do?"   


Harry shrugged. "I dunno. They wouldn't tell me, just sent me off to study." He tried not to sound peeved.   


"Oh," she said, nodding. "Well, then, it's probably just as well. We do have a good amount of studying to do, I'm beside myself about O.W.L.s--"  


"Hermione," Ron cut in, "haven't you been listening? This is serious!"  


"Well of course, Ron," she answered impatiently. "But there's nothing we can do about Professor Green's--_absence_--is there? I'm sure Professor Dumbledore is managing the situation. The only thing left for us to do is to mind our studies. Harry said himself that Dumbledore sent him away first thing--he doesn't _want_ us involved."  


Hermione made a good point. The resolve with which Dumbledore had sent Harry off, his insistence that Harry not be involved in whatever he, Snape, and McGonagall were planning--the Headmaster was trying to protect Harry, certainly. And since Harry had no idea where the scene in his dream had taken place (even though the place seemed tantalizingly familiar), there was no way Harry could help, anyway.  


"Besides," Hermione lowered her voice, smiling anxiously. "I think I've developed a working theory about the scroll."  


Harry looked at Ron in surprise. The scroll! As far as Ron and Harry knew, Hermione hadn't made any progress on the ancient piece of parchment for at least two and a half months. They had talked about it frequently, but each time, Hermione's frustration was evident, and lately she had appeared to tire of the subject.  


Now, her attitude was different.  


"I knew you'd want to hear about it, but I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. I've been checking my translation against an ancient Jordanian text that Professor Thorne just borrowed from a university library there--he had to go through his Muggle friend to get it, you see, to avoid telling the university who was _really_ borrowing it and from which school--"  


"Hermione!" This time, Ron's exasperation was real. "Just get to the point, will you?"  


"Alright!" Hermione answered, slightly irritated. For a moment, Harry was afraid she might not tell them her theory, out of spite; but her look of irritation quickly dissolved into eagerness.  


She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then reached into her bookbag and, with feigned nonchalance, set a piece of ordinary-looking parchment on the table before them.   


"Okay," she began, "this is a copy of the scroll--Professor Thorne won't let the real one out of his safe. I keep telling him I wouldn't let anything happen to it, but he won't listen--Now then, look at this image- " she pointed at a copy of one of the glyphs Harry had seen on the real scroll, just after he'd discovered it--the image consisted of a pair of wavy lines. "Now, look at this." Hermione reached down again, and brought up a thin, ordinary-looking book bound in red fabric. She opened it to a page that she had marked with an owl feather. "This is a Muggle facsimile of an ancient Jordanian scroll, written in a language similar to that of our ancient scroll. Look here."  


She laid the book down next to the parchment copy, and placed her finger next to a line in the book that included an image--two wavy lines, identical to the ones on the scroll.  


"They're the same," Ron observed.  


Hermione nodded. "Mm-hmm. _Exactly_ the same! You have no idea how significant that is, Ron. Because we know what the Jordanian text is about--it's a catalog of protective charms."  


She closed the little red book and set it aside. "The Muggles don't know that, of course; the parchment's had a Mistranslation Charm applied to it for a long time. They just think it's an inventory of the estate of a wealthy patriarch."  


"Okay." Ron squinted in a visible effort to weed out the important details of what Hermione was saying. "So these squiggles have something to do with some kind of protective charm?"  


"Yes!" Hermione whispered excitedly. "This one in particular is associated with a very old one, the defense against the Jelly-Legs Curse. Bet you didn't know that curse had been around so long, eh?" She chuckled, looking satisfied with herself.  


"So what exactly are these images? Just some shorthand way of talking about the protective charms?" Harry asked.  


"Short-what?" Ron asked.   


"That's my guess," Hermione answered. "Look, there are more here--" she grabbed the little red book and opened it to a different page, which she had marked with a spare scrap of parchment. "The eye stands for the Conjunctivitis Curse. And the crown--that stands for the Imperius Curse." She looked up at Harry; a tacit understanding passed between them. They were both remembering the lightning bolt glyph.  


"The Killing Curse," Harry said.  


While the boys looked on, Hermione pointed to the very bottom edge of the parchment copy. There sat the lightning bolt. Harry reflexively reached up and touched his scar. He could have been looking in a mirror, or at a sketch of his own face; the image was identical to his scar in every way.  


Hermione opened the red book to another page--this one was marked with a Fizzing Whizbees wrapper. And there it was: the familiar lightning bolt shape. She looked up at Harry. "The best I can figure, you got the scar in that shape because your mother had protected you against the Avada Kedavra by--by placing herself between you and Voldemort." She paused. "The parchment duplicated in this book isn't translated completely. But we know that this passage deals with the Killing Curse, and my guess is that it says that the only defense against the Killing Curse is the willing sacrifice of one life for another. After all," she said, closing the book, "that's the only defense against Avada Kedavra that we know of, isn't it?"  


As Harry focused on the lightning bolt glyph drawn on the ancient scroll, a voice--Voldemort's voice--pushed its way back into his consciousness...   


_His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice... This is old magic, I should have remembered it..._

  


"So that's all it is, then?" The sound of Ron's voice snapped Harry out of his reverie. "Just a list of protections from curses?"  


Hermione nodded. "That's my theory. I'm going to Professor Thorne with it this afternoon. He's teaching the third-years until four o'clock."   


"Well, what's this?" A familiar, drawling voice drifted toward them from the other side of a nearby bookshelf.  


A second later, Malfoy appeared around the corner. Crabbe and Goyle soon edged their way into sight, following him.  


"Looks like a collection of mongrels and Mudblood-lovers to me," said Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle snickered.  


"Get hexed, Malfoy," Ron muttered.  


"You wish, Weasley. But that's not likely--not here, anyway." He looked around, caught Madame Pince's eye, and waved innocently before turning back to Ron, Hermione, and Harry. "Potter, I just wanted to let you know that your little scam out on the Quidditch field may have fooled Hooch and Dumbledore, but it didn't fool me." He shook his head and gave Harry a look of mock-reproach. "Tsk, tsk. Very unlike saintly Potter to bend the rules that way, I must say."  


_"You're_ accusing someone of bending the rules? Oh, that's rich!" Hermione snorted. "Coming from the_--person--_" Harry strongly suspected Hermione very much wanted to call Malfoy something else-- "who broke Ginny's collarbone in the first match of the year!"  


Malfoy smirked. "That was an accident, I promise," he said in his most obsequious voice. "And don't change the subject. _I_--and the rest of the Slytherins--know who really deserved to win the Quidditch cup! Who cares if the entire school adores pretty Potter and his band of Muggle loving misfits?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Soon, you'll get what's coming to you--all of you."  


"Is that a threat, Malfoy?" Harry asked calmly.  


"Mmm, let's just call it a prediction," Malfoy answered. He turned around to leave. Then, quite suddenly, he stopped and turned back. "By the way, odd business with Professor Green, isn't it? I do hope nothing _bad_ has happened."   


Before anyone could respond, Malfoy had departed, with Crabbe and Goyle scrambling after him.  


Ron was staring after him, open-mouthed.  


"Did you hear that? He _knows_ something!"  


Hermione was frowning. "Forget it, Ron. He's just trying to bait you- he doesn't know anything."  


Harry looked from Hermione to Ron. "Let's see if we can find out."  


"How?" Ron asked. "We don't have time to brew up a Polyjuice Potion and impersonate Crabbe and Goyle again."  


Harry thought for a moment. They needed a way to get into the Slytherin common room undetected. "The invisibility cloak. We can follow Malfoy to the dungeons after dinner--"  


_"No!"_ Hermione whispered emphatically, startling them both. "You'd just get caught--and maybe that's what Malfoy wants, did you ever think of that?"  


Ron looked as though he couldn't believe his ears. "Hermione, Malfoy practically admitted that he knows what's going on with You-Know-Who- for all we know, he could be _involved_--and you're worried about _rules?"_  


"I'm not worried about you getting caught by the teachers. If you're discovered inside the Slytherin common room, the Slytherins themselves are the ones who'll catch you. And I'm willing to wager that they'll devise a worse punishment for you than anything Filch could come up with! Besides, if Malfoy _is_ involved, he could be trying to lure Harry into a trap of some kind. If you really think he's up to something, go to Dumbledore, go to McGonagall--blimey, Ron, you could even go to Snape!"  


"And tell them what? 'Malfoy was upset about Slytherin losing the Quidditch cup, so we figure he's working for the Dark Lord'? We don't know anything for sure--yet."  


"That's exactly the reason you should leave him alone. If it's not worth going to Dumbledore, it's not worth risking your own skins." She looked imploringly from Ron, to Harry, and back to Ron. "Don't follow him--it's not worth it."  


Ron looked completely horrified. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! Hermione, _you're_ the one who came up with the idea to take Polyjuice Potion and follow Malfoy into the Slytherin common room our second year!"   


"Don't be stupid. That was different!" she protested. Her face was red; she was obviously furious. "In our second year, the Slytherins were at odds with everyone--but there were no riots on the Quidditch pitch and no duels in the corridors. Plus, it was Christmastime and there were fewer of them then. Ron, listen to what you're saying--you and Harry want to go right into their common room--behind closed doors with an entire houseful of angry Slytherins! All because Malfoy made some snide comments!"  


Ron's expression hadn't changed; in fact, Harry wasn't sure Ron had heard anything Hermione had just said. She was actually doing a better job of convincing Harry, who was starting to realize that he hadn't fully considered what might happen if he and Ron were found out.   


"I cannot believe that you're telling me it isn't worth the risk to try to find out what Malfoy knows about--_You-Know-Who_--becoming immortal," Ron fumed. "I reckon being a prefect has changed you, Hermione. You remind me of Percy--you're more worried about following the rules and playing it safe than about what's really important."  


Now Ron was being unfair, Harry knew. Ron had a tendency to overstate his argument, but what he had said about Hermione was totally untrue; she was nothing like Percy.  


_"What?!"_ Hermione shrieked, drawing annoyed glances from several students nearby. "That's completely untrue! Harry, will you tell him--"  


But Harry was distracted now; Ron's mention of Percy had jogged something in his mind. Suddenly he had that feeling again, of having something on the tip of his tongue. There was some connection that his mind was struggling to make; he buried his face in his hands and concentrated.  


The last time he had felt this way had been in his dream ...  


And then he had it.  


"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, looking a little alarmed.  


Harry looked up at her. "Nothing. Come on, we've got to find Professor Dumbledore."  


Ron and Hermione looked at each other, nonplussed. Harry stood, and motioned for them to follow him. "Come on--forget about Malfoy, I know where Professor Green is, and Voldemort too."  


Ron was startled--whether at hearing the Dark Lord's name, or at the fact that Harry knew his whereabouts, Harry couldn't tell. "What? Where?"  


But Harry was already halfway to the door of the library. Ron and Hermione quickly gathered their things and scrambled after him. As they reached the door, Madame Pince shot them a disapproving look; she very much disliked any kind of disorderly behavior in her library, and that included running.  


"Wherever you're going, I'm sure there's no need for such haste. I wouldn't make any sudden moves around that lot in particular," she said, pointing to the nearest bookshelf in the Restricted Section.  


"Actually, it's very urgent, we need to see the Headmaster," Harry muttered as he passed her.  


"Oh, well in that case there really _is_ no reason to hurry. He's gone until tomorrow."  


Harry turned to face her; behind him, Ron and Hermione did the same.  


"What?" Harry asked.  


"He said only that had a family emergency to take care of. He should be back in a day or two."  


Harry was suddenly reminded of his first year at Hogwarts--that year, Dumbledore had disappeared at the precise moment the Sorcerer's Stone was in danger of being stolen. Then, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been forced to take action on their own. Would they have to do the same thing now?   


"What about Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked.  


Madame Pince turned to her, frowning. "Off-grounds as well. I was just informed there was some sort of emergent crisis which required her immediate attention." If Madame Pince suspected that Dumbledore's and McGonagall's absences were related to Professor Green's, she showed no sign of suspicion or worry. "Professor Snape has taken responsibility for the day-to-day operation of the school until the Headmaster returns." She squinted formidably at Ron, Hermione, and Harry, and leaned toward them. "Is there something _I_ can help you with?"  


"No," Harry quickly muttered as he grabbed both Ron and Hermione by the arm and spirited them out of the library.  


So Snape was the only teacher left who knew what was going on--they would have to go to him. Harry's throat tightened a bit. He wished he hadn't argued with Snape earlier in the day; he doubted very much that he would listen to a word Harry had to say now.  


As they descended the staircase to the dungeons, Harry felt the temperature drop. He shivered.  


"What are we doing here?" Hermione whispered urgently. Harry didn't answer, but simply continued briskly down the corridor leading to Snape's office.  


Then they stood facing Snape's office door. Harry lifted his hand to knock--but Ron grabbed his fist.  


"Harry, are you mental? You actually think Snape's going to _listen_ to you? After what he said before?"  


"You don't understand, Ron. It's the only way! I've got to tell _someone,_ I've got to do _something--_"  


"About what? You still haven't told us what this is all about!"  


Just then, Harry heard footsteps at the far end of the corridor. His heart skipped a beat; the Slytherin common room was close by, and the last thing Harry, Ron, and Hermione needed was to be intercepted by Malfoy or his housemates. As Harry turned to look down the corridor, his shoulder brushed Snape's office door--and it opened. Tentatively, Harry poked his head inside.  


"Professor?" he asked, more shakily than he had intended. There was no reply. Snape's office was completely empty; except for the crackling fireplace, there was no movement in the room. After one more quick glance down the corridor--Harry still couldn't see who was coming--he grabbed Ron and Hermione by the arm again and pulled them inside.  


The room looked exactly as it had two years ago, when Snape had accused Harry of sneaking into Hogsmeade, and had nearly discovered the Marauder's Map.  


"What did you do that for?" Hermione asked quietly. "When he gets back here and finds us--we've got to leave--" Hermione moved toward the door.  


"No," Harry said, pulling her back. "Didn't you hear those footsteps? We're in Slytherin territory now, and we don't have time for a duel at the moment. Besides--" he moved with a sudden decisiveness toward the fireplace and began examining the objects on the mantel-- "we won't be here long."  


What he was considering doing was not safe, but it wasn't foolish either. It was simply the only option. It was possible, after all, that Snape and Dumbledore were right, and Professor Green was under the Imperius Curse or something similar; in that case, Harry would have to do something to help her. If they were wrong, and Professor Green was working for Voldemort, Harry was still, as far as he knew, the only one who knew Voldemort's whereabouts; in that case, he was the only one who had any chance of stopping Voldemort's attempt to gain immortality.   


Harry didn't understand much about the Floo network; he strongly doubted that anyone could Floo into Hogwarts, as it would leave the school too vulnerable to Dark wizards. But he remembered talking to Sirius in the Gryffindor common room fire last year, so he knew that the Hogwarts network must have some contact with the outside world. He found himself obliquely wishing he had a copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ on hand.   


Abruptly he turned to Hermione.  


"Is Hogwarts on the Floo network?" he asked.  


She stared at him blankly for a second. He expected her to ask for an explanation, but she must have thought the better of it, because she simply said, "Well, that's a complicated question."  


"Give me the short version, then," he said quickly, turning back to the mantel.  


"Yes," she answered, "but there's no access _to_ Hogwarts. The school's internal Floo network is only available for communication purposes, and to allow people who are already inside to leave--" She abruptly stopped. "Ooh, is that what you're playing at?"  


But Harry had already found what he was looking for, in a crude-looking clay bowl near the farthest edge of the mantelpiece. He grabbed a handful of the Floo powder and tossed it into the fire. The flames instantly burned a deep purple, and cast an iridescent violet glow over the room.  


"Ready?" he said. "Follow me." Straightening his glasses, Harry stepped into the fire.   


"Clear Lake Manor," he said, careful to enunciate each syllable.  


***  


**Author's Note:** Thanks are due this time to the HPC folks (as always), but especially Mellie, Tierney, and Teri for finding flaws and making suggestions.   


This world belongs to J.K. Rowling, but I do so enjoy playing in it. 


	29. Clear Lake Manor

**Author's Note:** Oops, looks like I inadvertently cut a couple of lines off the end of the last chapter the first time I uploaded it. Just in case you missed them, I'm including those lines in the first part of this chapter.  


* * *

But Harry had already found what he was looking for, in a crude-looking clay bowl near the farthest edge of the mantelpiece. He grabbed a handful of the Floo powder and tossed it into the fire. The flames instantly burned a deep purple, and cast an iridescent violet glow over the room.  


"Ready?" he said. "Follow me." Straightening his glasses, Harry stepped into the fire.   


"Clear Lake Manor," he said, careful to enunciate each syllable.  


***

Harry was careful to keep his elbows in, and not to fidget, and as a result he only wobbled the tiniest bit when he landed in a cloud of soot in the Clearwaters' stone fireplace.   


It was dark inside the Clearwaters' house. The combination of the soot, the time of day (nearing evening), and being indoors with no lighting made it feel as though it were nighttime. As Harry might have expected, it appeared that no one was home.  


Cautiously but quickly, since Ron and Hermione were likely to follow any second, he stepped out of the fireplace and into the large ballroom. For a split second he considered calling out, on the off chance that any of the Clearwaters did happen to be home, but instantly he realized how foolish this would be. Of course it would be best for all three of them to keep as quiet as possible. As Harry scanned the room, and peered into adjoining rooms to make sure no one was there, he heard a thud in the fireplace. He rushed over and found Ron steadying himself in the midst of his own cloud of soot.  


"Come on," Harry whispered, helping Ron out of the fireplace. They had taken a couple of steps into the ballroom when Ron spoke.  


"So he's--You-Know-Who's--here, then? But, where are the Clearwaters?"  


"Just have a look around." Hermione's voice startled Harry--he hadn't heard her arrive. He turned around. She was stepping out of the fireplace, leaving an unfortunately sooty shoeprint on the pristine marble floor. "Doesn't look like anyone's been here for a few days, does it? They must be away."  


She was right. Harry had noticed it at once: no candles were lit, and all the furniture was tucked tidily under dust covers. Even the objects on the shelves were placed just so, and covered with a fine layer of dust, as if they hadn't been touched for at least a week.  


"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Harry asked her. "Voldemort's trying to keep as low a profile as possible. He wouldn't come here while the Clearwaters were here."  


"But why would he come here at all?" Ron asked.  


"Hmm," was all Hermione said.  


Harry shrugged. He moved to a large picture window overlooking the grounds, including the garden where Percy and Penelope were married last summer.  


It was surrounded, just as it had been then and later in his dream, by a tall, ivy-covered wall, which prevented Harry from seeing into the garden from where he stood. The moment he turned back to Ron and Hermione, she spoke.  


"We know this has something to do with Professor Green, right? Well, what if Voldemort needed her for his plan, whatever it is? Let's assume she's not in on it. If that's true--well, we know that it's very difficult to ambush a person at Hogwarts--just think how many times he's tried to get at you, Harry. But what if, knowing her family was away, he lured her here somehow? That might not be so difficult to do."  


Ron looked as confused as Harry felt. "But why would he need _Green,_ Hermione?"  


She shrugged. "No idea." She turned to Harry. "You know more about this than either of us. What shall we do next?"  


Harry turned back to the picture window. "We have to go there," he said, pointing. "The garden."  


Hermione considered this for a moment. "Alright, but first let's get an idea what we're up against."  


They crept gingerly up the main staircase and peeked out the window at the first floor landing. There in the garden was the scene from Harry's dream: Pettigrew, Green, Voldemort, and a huge cauldron suspended over a crackling fire.  


Ron and Hermione wore identical looks of shock, which soon faded into a somber sort of resolve.  


"Pettigrew," Hermione whispered.  


"And--him. You-Know-Who," Ron finished, a little shakily.   


"That's what I saw in my dream," Harry explained. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. But I have to try to stop him, you understand--I can't let him finish brewing whatever's in that cauldron so he can become immortal. And I don't know how much time we have before that happens." He turned away from the window and looked from Hermione to Ron. "I reckon I shouldn't have brought you two here without telling you what you were getting into--if you want to just stay here, you'll probably be safer -I'd understand--"  


Ron and Hermione stared at each other, then at Harry. They looked scandalized.  


"You mental or something?" Ron finally said. "There's no way we'd let you go out there alone! Besides, there are three of us and three of them- me and Hermione even the odds a bit, don't we?" He gave them both a sardonic smile. "Plus, we've got a tactical advantage--the element of surprise. Come on, let's go."  


They had an easy time finding a back door and slipping out soundlessly. Once they were outside, they looked around. Overhead, a thick blanket of cloud obscured the sky, and made it seem colder than it really was. Keeping cautiously to the side of the house--Harry now wished he had thought to bring his Invisibility Cloak with him--they followed a narrow strip of grass to the back lawn.   


The garden wall was surrounded on all sides by several yards of rolling grass that was just greening up from a wintertime of hibernation. The grassy lawn, in turn, was surrounded by a thick wood. Ahead of them, the wood extended all the way down to the cliff overlooking the large lake.   


Ron and Hermione followed Harry as he crept quietly up to the back garden wall. Harry thought he remembered exactly where the opening in the wall would be: if they followed the wall around the corner to their left, they would be standing directly in front of it. Slowly they edged their way around, pressing themselves flat against the rough ivy-covered stone, to find the opening to the garden exactly where they had expected it. When they stood just outside it, they could hear voices.  


"--ready soon. Then the Basilisk venom can be added--"  


The voice was Pettigrew's. And from the agitated sound of it, he seemed to be nearly finished brewing whatever potion they had seen in the cauldron.  


Harry was unsure what to do. The three of them couldn't very well burst into the garden and take on Voldemort just like that. In fact, Harry didn't have any idea how he was going to ascertain whether Professor Green was a Death Eater or an Imperius victim, much less help her, if she needed help.  


Ron seemed to read his mind. "Do you know any way of getting a person out from under the Imperius curse?" he whispered. Harry and Hermione shook their heads. He looked from Harry to Hermione and said, "Harry, I don't think we've thought this through."  


Ron was right; they hadn't. They weren't even wearing their cloaks. Normally they wouldn't have needed them at this time of year, but they were already shivering--tonight would be very cold.  


Harry peered covertly around the corner, through the archway. He could just see a sliver of the great cauldron; the hem of a robe; a hand with a wand in it. Then, suddenly, Professor Green moved partially into his line of sight. He carefully considered her dull, unfocused gaze, and wondered whether Snape and Dumbledore were right about her being cursed.  


Suddenly Harry felt a strong, sinewy hand clasp itself over his mouth. He was just about to yell, when he turned and caught sight of the hand's owner--Snape. He looked even more cross than usual.  


"Have you any idea how much danger you've put yourselves in?" he whispered fiercely as he steered Harry and Ron, whose mouth was covered by Snape's other hand, away from the garden, back around the side of the great house, and into the shadow of the forest.  


Only when they were well inside the wood did Snape remove his hands from their mouths. Hermione had followed, looking alternately relieved and horror-stricken.  


"I returned to my office just in time to see Miss Granger disappear into my fireplace," he hissed. "I assumed that an errand taking five minutes' time would not have required me to lock my office door. But I should have known better than to leave it unlocked, even for a few minutes, with you three on the loose! It took me several minutes to track down exactly where you had gone." He leaned toward them, his voice lowered dangerously. "Do you have any idea what you've nearly done? If you'd been discovered--you're lucky I came upon you when I did!"  


Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione beat him to it.  


"Professor, Harry tried to find you, but you weren't in your office!"  


"Silence, Miss Granger!" Snape nearly shouted, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down. He immediately lowered his voice to a whisper again. "That is of no consequence, at any rate. Now that I know the whereabouts of the Dark Lord and Professor Green--" thanks to me, Harry thought grumpily-- "I must act. I cannot allow her to remain under the Imperius curse."   


"Professor Snape." Harry regarded Snape levelly, remembering with a touch of regret their argument earlier in the day. "How do you know for sure that she's under Imperius? If you're wrong--"  


"I am not," Snape interrupted, returning Harry's level gaze with his own. His voice had a hint of threat in it, and it was clear that he did not intend to explain, or allow an argument.  


Harry was considering this, and had just decided that it wasn't worth arguing with Snape, when he heard a voice--or perhaps it was two?- shouting through the wood. _"Stupefy!"_ they said--and the world went black.  


***  


_"Enervate."_  


Harry opened his eyes. It took them a moment to focus properly, and as they did so, a gnawing, sickly feeling crept over him. He realized that his scar was throbbing. Even before he was fully conscious, he instinctively knew that something was very wrong.   


The images that swam into focus proved his instinct right. It was later in the evening now, almost completely dark; but the sky had cleared, to display a bright half-moon. The only other source of light was a fire, located a few feet away, under a very large cauldron.   


Harry was seated on the ground in a corner, the ivy-covered back garden wall to his right, his back against the adjoining wall. To his left sat Ron, Hermione, and Snape. And before him stood three figures: on the right, Professor Green, who regarded the four seated figures with a kind of vague curiosity; on the left, Peter Pettigrew, who fidgeted nervously and seemed to be trying not to look directly at Harry. And in the middle- that pale white skin; those long, spidery fingers; that thin, lipless gash of a mouth forming itself into a malicious smile--stood Voldemort.   


"You," Ron whispered.  


"Oh no," Hermione uttered almost simultaneously.  


Harry tried to stand up, but found that he was bound tightly by vines like the ones covering the garden wall. He was reminded fleetingly of Quirrell's spell in the dungeons at Hogwarts his first year: the spell that had bound him with ropes that had seemed to appear out of nowhere. Voldemort must have used a similar spell to bind Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Snape--for they, too, were covered and with vines that snaked around their limbs and held them immobile.  


A very large snake--Harry recognized it as the one that had circled him in the graveyard last year--slithered up to Harry and stared at him intently. Harry struggled against the vines, but they held him fast.  


"Not yet," Voldemort whispered to the snake, "but soon, Nagini, very soon."  


Voldemort's gaze moved from the snake to Harry.   


"Harry Potter. Now, this _is_ puzzling. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your visit? Did you miss me so much that you decided to make our meetings an annual tradition? Or were you perhaps brought here by someone else--" He turned his gaze on Snape, who looked as though he were still waking up from the Stunning Spell.  


"Yes, Master," Snape muttered. His voice sounded strangely obsequious--Harry had never heard him use this tone, not even with Dumbledore. "I--ascertained your location and contrived to bring the Potter boy here to you. These two friends of his happened to be in the way."  


"And how did you find me, Severus? Lucius?"  


"Yes, my lord--as soon as Professor Green disappeared, I went to Lucius and he told me--"  


"LIAR!" Voldemort pointed his wand at Snape. Harry's head pounded and his heart lurched; he had a horrible feeling he knew what was coming next. _"Crucio!"_  


Snape's entire body convulsed, and he screamed in agony. Ron and Hermione cringed and looked away, their eyes shut tightly. After what seemed like years, but must have only been a few seconds, Voldemort raised his wand. Snape stopped trembling and sat motionless and silent.   


"You always were an effective liar, Severus--a trait which I found singularly valuable when you were in my service. But now that you presume to lie to _me_, I am less inclined to look favorably upon it. Though I did tolerate it for quite some time, to be sure." He crouched nimbly and looked Snape in the face at eye level. "Let us be honest, shall we? We both know that you are no longer a true Death Eater. _I_ have known as much for over a decade; I merely found it convenient to play along with your facade for the past few months in order to obtain the necessary ingredients for my potion." At this he looked over his shoulder at the great cauldron, from which a light haze, now colored a violent shade of fuchsia, had begun to rise. "Now that I no longer require your services, we can dispense with the charade."  


Snape said nothing. Voldemort reached out a ghastly white, long fingered hand and gingerly placed it around Snape's throat.  


"Tell me, Severus," he said casually. "Who knows that you are here? Did you happen to leave a note for Albus Dumbledore--your _real_ master--before you stepped into that fireplace?" Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Voldemort tightened his grip before Snape could utter a sound.   


"A word of warning: do not lie to me." Voldemort's voice was as deadly cold as the steel of a knife blade.  


He released Snape's throat and crouched, waiting. "No," Snape finally responded, hoarsely. "No one knows we're here." Voldemort considered this for a few seconds, then appeared satisfied, and stood.  


"My lord," a squeaky voice interjected. Voldemort turned to face Pettigrew. "Perhaps it would be wise to call the others. They could help us handle these--intruders. You know how difficult that boy can be--" He motioned toward Harry.  


"Help us like last time, you mean?" Voldemort answered, shooting Pettigrew a withering look. "I think not; they would only get in the way. I will call them when I need them. I do not need them now." Pettigrew nodded and stepped back, as though willing Voldemort to turn his gaze elsewhere.  


"Well, this is a rather interesting turn of events," Voldemort said, almost cheerfully. He turned to face Harry--as a searing pain shot through Harry's skull.   


Voldemort began to pace up and down before the four of them. "Harry Potter, it seems that _you_ have come in search of _me_ for once. How--_convenient_. I must say, this is unexpected good fortune. Of course, I will kill you--all of you. Except, I think, for one." He paused, eyeing Snape, Hermione, and Ron in turn. "Yes. I would like to send just one witness back to Dumbledore with the news of my triumph."  


"Send them back," Snape growled suddenly. "_I_ betrayed you, it's true--keep me and send these hormone-addled imbeciles back to Hogwarts. They will pose no threat to you there; they're far too thick to be of any use to Dumbledore--"  


"Silence, Severus!" Voldemort interrupted. "Your magnanimity is touching, but I did not ask--"  


"Send Hermione!" Ron blurted breathlessly. "You can keep the rest of us, just send her back--she's got a good memory, she'll tell Dumbledore everything you want her to--"  


"Ron, shut up!" Hermione muttered.  


"SILENCE!" Voldemort yelled, his face contorted with rage. Ron and Hermione fell silent. Voldemort turned to Harry. "I think I know one who will certainly _not_ leave this garden alive. Stand up, Potter."  


Voldemort waved his wand. At once, the vines unwound themselves from Harry's limbs; he stood, facing Voldemort.  


"As I recall, there is the little matter of a duel to be settled between us," Voldemort drawled, reaching into his robes and pulling out his wand. "No Portkey in sight this time, Potter. I will defeat you, and one of our three friends will take the news of your death back to that insult to the purity of the wizarding race, Albus Dumbledore. He, in turn, will spread the word--and the entire wizarding world will live in fear of me once again!" Instinctively, Harry drew his own wand. But Voldemort did not point his wand at Harry; instead, he reached back and, still training his murderous gaze on Harry, motioned Professor Green forward. She drew her wand.  


Voldemort's eyes glittered. "Apparently our wands prefer not to fight one another, Harry. And using another wizard's wand would put either of us at a disadvantage--and we cannot have that. No." He turned to Professor Green. "However, using another wizard--or in this case, a witch--puts me at no great disadvantage, I think."  


Harry shook his head. "I'm not fighting her. Or you."  


Voldemort laughed. "Fine. You'll make it easy, then." Harry turned to see Professor Green's face twisted in a sadistic smile that, except for the distant gaze, was an exact reproduction of Voldemort's own expression. She pointed her wand at Harry.  


_"Crucio!"_  


Harry flung himself on the ground and rolled out of the way. The curse missed him, hitting the garden wall a short distance above Hermione's head. She gave a startled cry. Alarmed, she and Ron struggled fiercely, but vainly, against the vines binding them.  


Harry stood up and backed away carefully--he was no longer standing in front of the others, so at least now they were less likely to be hit by curses that he dodged or deflected. Professor Green advanced, following him as he backed toward the other end of the garden. Reluctantly, he pointed his wand at her. He was convinced now that she was cursed, and he preferred not to harm her if he could avoid it. _"Expelliarmus!"_  


She deflected the spell easily, with a slight flick of her wand, and continued advancing on him. He took a step back--and felt the rough stone wall press against him. He had nowhere to go; she was standing between him and the archway. He was trapped.  


"Professor!" he cried. "You have to fight! You can't let him make you do this!"  


She stopped and stood for a moment, frowning in an expression of mild puzzlement. She looked around distractedly. Behind her, by the light of the fire Harry saw Voldemort raise his wand again and mutter something. Green shuddered, and looked at Harry once more--the glazed expression had returned. She pointed her wand at him. He realized that she was going to be a difficult target for the Disarming spell; his best bet would be to try to disarm her physically.   


_"Crucio!"_ she shouted again.  


Harry turned, dodged the curse, and in one fluid motion closed the distance between them. He moved to kick the wand out of her hand, but she anticipated this and stepped back, causing him to miss. Just as he regained his footing, she advanced and, before he knew what had happened, she jerked his wand out of his hand. He stepped back--and tripped over an azalea bush. He fell backward, his hands reaching behind him to break his fall. She pocketed his wand, still moving toward him.   


He quickly untangled his legs from the nearly leafless branches of the bush. Professor Green spoke in an impatient tone that could have been a spot-on imitation of Voldemort. "I said, _'Crucio!'_"  


A surge of panic coursed through Harry--he had to find a way to protect himself against those white-hot knives of pain. He put his hands out to shield himself, causing him to drop onto his back in the dirt. The curse that issued from Green's wand, to his amazement, appeared to bounce off an invisible barrier between them and shoot off into the inky night sky.  


Green regarded him curiously for a second, then reached down and picked him up by the throat. He struggled, clawing at her arms, kicking out wildly, and even landing some square blows. But she didn't so much as flinch; she didn't seem to feel pain at all. And he couldn't extract himself from her grasp, she was too strong. Still smiling contentedly, she pointed her wand at Harry's throat and carried him back to Voldemort. Harry punched and kicked out savagely, but it had no effect. He could hear Voldemort's high, soft laughter as they drew closer.  


Harry had to do something, anything--he couldn't allow himself to be killed like this. Not even by Voldemort, but by someone who, if she somehow lived through this, would herself be tormented by the memory of what she had done.   


He reached out hopelessly--and his hand closed around something she was carrying in a sheath at her side. He looked down and saw it, next to a small leather pouch, attached to a belt tied around her waist. It was a knife.  


He heard her begin to utter a curse. Without thinking, Harry drew the knife and struck out with all his strength.   


_"Avada Ked--"_ she began, but broke off in a terrible squeak. She let go of his throat, and Harry dropped to the ground. He looked up.   


Green's eyes were fixed on the knife, which had been plunged into her heart, all the way up to the hilt. Behind her, Voldemort swore and lowered his wand. Gasping irregular, rattling breaths, Green looked from the knife to Harry. The glazed-over expression was gone, and Harry could tell that she was registering with perfect clarity what she knew to be the last seconds of her life. Her eyes held his in a helpless gaze, her mouth open in an unframed question. Then she staggered several steps and fell on her back in front of Ron, Hermione, and Snape where they were bound.   


Hermione burst into tears. Ron gaped, horrified. Snape's face was the picture of uncomprehending shock: he simply stared at her, his mouth open, his eyes wide. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a single syllable, a soft _no_ almost like a breath. 

Professor Green drew a final long, rattling breath, and fell silent.  


"Idiot girl! Wormtail, watch him," Voldemort ordered as he walked to the spot where Professor Green lay. Blood coursed extravagantly from the knife wound, tracing tiny red rivulets over her neck and soaking her robes. Her eyes were fixed in a lifeless gaze that reminded Harry with sickening force of Cedric.   


Pettigrew advanced and trained his wand on Harry, exerting a visible effort not to look away. Voldemort stood over Green, surveying her angrily. Before she had even stopped twitching, he placed one boot on her shoulder and savagely yanked the knife out. She shuddered once and was still.  


Voldemort calmly considered the blood-covered knife in his hand. "Pity," he said casually. "She might have been of great use to me alive. Still, I have what I needed from her, don't I?" As he said this, he looked at Pettigrew, who nodded distractedly. While Pettigrew kept his eyes, and his wand, on Harry, Voldemort walked over to the bubbling cauldron and dropped the knife into it.  


Harry was pierced by a terrible pang of remorse--he hadn't meant to kill Professor Green, only to keep _her_ from killing _him_. His right hand was stained with blood; horrified, he wiped it on the corner of his robes. Harry looked up to see Pettigrew still woodenly pointing his wand at him, as Voldemort turned away from the cauldron.  


Harry felt rage boil up within him, like the liquid simmering within the cauldron. None of this should have happened; it was all Voldemort's fault. He had ruined and destroyed far too many lives. He could not be allowed to become immortal. It was too cruel that Harry had no way of stopping him.  


"What's wrong, Harry?" Voldemort taunted him. He looked from Harry to Professor Green and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, yes--sorry about your teacher. Entirely my fault, that was. I suppose I underestimated you." Voldemort raised his wand; a few feet in front of him, Pettigrew still stood with his own wand trained on Harry. Voldemort continued. "Well, enough dawdling, I think. I _am_ her second, after all, and I suppose it is time to end this duel. You know, that was an impressive display of wandless magic. Pity you won't be able to deflect _this_." He spoke the last word deadly soft, ending in a hiss.  


Harry knew what was coming, and he knew that Voldemort was right. He wouldn't be able to deflect the Killing curse; no one in history had ever been able to do that. The only thing that could possibly defend Harry against Voldemort now was his own wand--and that was still tucked away in the pocket of Professor Green's robes. Harry took a deep breath, and moved toward her.  


"I think not. Wormtail!" Voldemort shouted, and Pettigrew, his wand drawn, stepped between Harry and Professor Green. Now that they stood face to face, Harry got a good look at Pettigrew. He was sweating copiously. What little hair he had once had was all but gone, and his eyes were sunken into his skull. He had lost a lot of weight since that night in the Shrieking Shack.   


"Master," Pettigrew squeaked. "Are you certain that this is the best way? Perhaps we should keep him alive--"   


"Quiet!" roared Voldemort, who kept his wand aimed at Harry's throat. "Wormtail, I am beginning to doubt your loyalty to me."  


"No, my lord," Pettigrew mumbled, somewhat desperately, and grew silent. Harry considered physically pushing Pettigrew out of the way and diving for his wand, but realized that doing this would once again put Ron and Hermione in the path of any missed curse that Voldemort might aim at him.  


"Finally, Harry Potter." Voldemort smiled wickedly, and his voice was almost a whisper now. "Finally, I will see you dead."  


Harry stepped backward. He refused to turn his back and run, but he still instinctively wanted to put as much distance between himself and Voldemort as possible. This is good, he thought. Ron and Hermione are out of the line of fire now, and that's good.  


"No, my lord!" Pettigrew exclaimed, entirely against his will. His eyes were wild with fear, and he walked toward Harry as though pulled by an invisible force.   


But he would not get to Harry in time to make any difference. As Voldemort began to form the words, Harry heard the rushing sound, and before the Dark Lord had spoken the third syllable of the Killing curse, Harry thought he saw green light begin to fill in the edges of his vision. He shut his eyes tight, and waited.  


Even with his eyes closed, Harry could see the blinding flash of green. It began, he noticed, even before Voldemort had finished pronouncing the curse. Harry shuddered in an unexpected fit of protest at the unfairness of it: his life was already being cut horribly short--to have it shortened any more, even by a mere fraction of a second, was too much of an injustice.   


And then, as soon as they had come, the wind and light were gone. Harry stood, his feet planted firmly. Slowly, he opened his eyes.   


At first he couldn't make sense of it--everything appeared just as it had before he had closed them. Then a possibility occurred to him: was he a ghost? He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He held his hands out in front of him, and clasped them together. No, he was solid. Somehow, he had survived.  


Before him, the Dark Lord stood motionless. To his left, but unnoticed by him, Snape, Ron, and Hermione were untangling themselves from the vines which had bound them a few seconds ago. The vines looked brittle now, having taken on a very dead-looking brown color. On the ground before the three of them, forgotten by Voldemort, Professor Green half sat, half leaned back on one hand, pointing her wand at Voldemort with the other. _That_ was why the curse had come before Voldemort had finished uttering it: she had cursed Voldemort before he had had the chance to curse Harry.   


But Voldemort wasn't dead. At worst, he merely looked as if he had been stunned by a jolt of electricity, and was now recovering from the temporary discomfort of it. He blinked, and looked around.  


Between Voldemort and Harry, Peter Pettigrew lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. He was completely unmarked--but unmistakably dead. Just as Harry noticed him, Voldemort saw the lifeless body, too; a slow, lipless smile spread across his face. Then, he began to laugh.  


In the glow of the firelight, as Voldemort turned to look at Pettigrew, Harry saw something on the right side of his neck, just below his ear. It was a small, thin scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt.  


"A scar--that's it!" Hermione blurted. "The scroll--the glyphs--the protective charms--why didn't I see it before? The curse doesn't create the scar; the scar blocks the curse!"

***  


**Author's Note (again):** Remember the Healing Dagger? :)  


I know what you're thinking. But in defense of Persephone Green's competence as an Auror, I will point out that in canon we are told that Crouch Sr. was kept under the Imperius curse for an extended period of time by his son. And Crouch Sr. was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and "powerfully magical" according to Sirius. So it looks like the Imperius curse is not as easy for everyone to resist as it is for Harry.  


As always, thanks to the HPC crew for their help--especially Teri, wolf550e, Mellie, Rebecca, Tierney, Ginny, Pippy, and marvolo. And the whole scroll/scar idea belongs to w1zzard--thanks for letting me use it! 


	30. The Heir of Slytherin

  


Voldemort stood over Pettigrew's lifeless form, surveying it coldly. "Tsk, tsk," he muttered. "Two servants in one night--you lot are turning out to be a nuisance, aren't you? Well, Wormtail," he said. First he nudged Pettigrew's body with his boot; then he kicked Pettigrew over so that he lay on his back, staring blankly into space.  


"Well done, after all. You did prove useful to me, even in death." Voldemort paused. "Especially in death."   


Voldemort glanced at Professor Green who, looking very pale indeed, still pointed her wand back at him.  


"Very interesting," he said, slowly. "Some sort of Auror trick, I presume?"  


Suddenly Harry realized what must have happened when he had stabbed her. "Was that the Healing Dagger?" he blurted.  


Professor Green nodded weakly at Harry, still training her wand on Voldemort. Slowly a hateful, comprehending smile spread across his face. "Ah, yes. A Healing Dagger. I might have known."  


Then, apparently completely undisturbed at having four wands trained on him at once, Voldemort turned to Hermione, looking quite pleased with himself.   


"I know who you are--Lucius Malfoy has mentioned you--the Granger Mudblood, no?" Ron winced at the slur, but Hermione held Voldemort's steely gaze, and said nothing. He continued. "You are exactly right in your assessment of the scar. It's very old magic indeed; I should have remembered it as soon as I saw the lightning bolt-shaped glyph inscribed on the Potter infant's forehead. But it had been so long ... A very long time indeed since an associate of mine at the Department of Mysteries directed my attention to an obscure old scroll in a nearly untranslatable dialect. At the time, I thought little of it, as my attentions were ... focused elsewhere.   


"My associate had made a much more significant discovery, you see- one which touched more directly on my quest for immortality. It was that discovery, in fact, which gave rise to this very potion." He motioned to the simmering cauldron. "His incidental discovery of a scroll purporting to contain protective charms, even ones that supposedly defend one against an exhaustive litany of curses, seemed far less significant by comparison. Besides, when would _I_ come under threat of a Dark curse? My followers would never dare--and I was in no danger from those bumbling fools at the Ministry." Voldemort turned from Hermione to Harry.  


"It wasn't until I came face-to-face with you, Harry, that I found out how wrong I was.  


"In a way, I suppose I should thank you for that. Or rather, thank your mother--for certainly, she was the one with the knowledge and the presence of mind to etch that protective scar into your skin in the moments before her death. I had years in Albania to brood over my mistake--but I had no need for any such protections until I once again possessed a physical body of my own. Once I had acquired one, I set out to recover the catalog of protective charms."  


Harry reached up and touched the scar on his forehead. The entire wizarding world--including Dumbledore--had believed that the scar was the result of the Killing curse hitting Harry and rebounding onto Voldemort. Could the scar really be the cause, rather than the result, of Harry's momentary immunity to the Killing curse? Could Voldemort be telling the truth?   


A peal of high-pitched, mirthless laughter came as if in answer. Unnerved, Harry started at the sound.   


"What would be the point of lying to you in the few seconds remaining before your death? I only tell you this so that you will know, before you die, that whatever protection you received from your parents--unknowing and unmerited--I have also acquired, through my own efforts.   


"And not only that, but I have improved upon those protections, as well. Each glyph protects you from only one occurrence of a curse, you see. I am protected against far more than that." Voldemort rolled up his right sleeve to reveal row upon row of tiny images inscribed into the skin of his arm, as if it were a parchment bearing a message written in some foreign language. Every glyph catalogued in the scroll must have appeared at least ten times. They were packed so tightly that every inch of skin that he showed was completely covered. Hermione and Ron gasped. Snape and Green looked horrified.   


"Harry!" a hoarse voice whispered. It was Professor Green. With an effort, she pulled Harry's wand out of her pocket and tossed it to him. Relieved to have his wand back, Harry pointed it at Voldemort.  


Voldemort's mouth curled into a vicious sneer. "Go ahead, Harry. Curse me. I won't retaliate, I promise. But you should know that the protective charms will cause whatever spell you cast on me to rebound onto the closest available victim--as I found out, most unfortunately, that Halloween night fourteen years ago. As Wormtail found out tonight." Voldemort drew his wand. "So. It appears that I have the proverbial upper hand."  


Harry's mind raced. He desperately tried to think of a spell, but every one he thought of--the Stunning spell, the Disarming spell, right down schoolyard hexes like Jelly-Legs and Furnunculous--Voldemort would likely have a defense for.   


Voldemort laughed. "Well, I think that's enough chatting for one evening. And now, Harry, I bid you farewell."  


A final possibility burst like a blinding ray of hope into Harry's mind, and he seized on it with full force. It would be difficult to do, considering the circumstances, but he had no choice. He summoned every ounce of mental strength, pointed his wand, and shouted:  


_"Expecto Patronum!"_   


A silvery mist shot from the end of Harry's wand, instantly taking the form of a large stag. Without hesitation, the stag charged Voldemort. His eyes wide with shock, Voldemort dodged the Patronus--but the creature pursued him. Voldemort backed away, trying several times to aim his wand at the Patronus, but it was no use--the Patronus was too close for Voldemort to take aim. Harry was surprised at how unnerved Voldemort became as the Patronus drew near.  


Harry knew there wasn't much time; he couldn't keep up the Patronus Charm and hold off Voldemort indefinitely. "Go on!" he yelled to the others, motioning toward the archway. "Quickly! Get out!"  


Ron and Hermione stood and began to obey, but stopped as they noticed that Green and Snape weren't moving. Professor Green seemed to be struggling to her feet with some difficulty, but her full attention was focused on pointing her wand at Voldemort.  


_"Expecto Patronum!"_  


Instantly a silver form issued from the end of her wand, taking the shape of a great eagle.   


_"Expecto Patronum!"_   


Harry turned to see Snape pointing his wand at Voldemort as well. Snape's phoenix Patronus followed the eagle and the (now rapidly dissipating) stag in pursuit of Voldemort. The Dark Lord was standing his ground now, hurling spells at the Patroni; but the spells simply shot through the misty creatures without deterring them.  


"Get his wand!" Professor Green shouted.  


Of course! No Patronus would remain indefinitely; if they wanted to disable Voldemort for good, they would have to get his wand away from him. Harry followed in the wake of the three Patroni, making a beeline for Voldemort's wand.  


Harry approached Voldemort, dodging the stray curses that shot from his wand. Voldemort was so preoccupied vainly fighting off the Patroni that he didn't see Harry creep up on him in the half-darkness. Harry placed one foot behind Voldemort and pushed him backward; the Dark Lord fell, but not before grasping Harry tightly around the throat. He pulled Harry down, pushed him into the ground, and raised his wand.  


But now Snape was behind Voldemort, and he snatched the wand out of his hand instantly. Wandless, but blind with fury, Voldemort tightened his grip around Harry's neck; Harry tried to pry his fingers off, but he was having trouble breathing...  


Suddenly Voldemort was being pulled off Harry, who was in turn being pulled upright. Catching his breath, he looked around to see Professor Green holding him by his arm. She had regained some color and stood much more steadily now. The Patroni had disappeared.  


"Alright there, Harry?" she asked. He nodded.  


Snape waved his wand; instantly, vines sprung out from the back garden wall nearby and wrapped themselves around Voldemort.  


Ron and Hermione stood just behind Snape, staring at Voldemort. Harry saw a new expression on each of their faces: they were reassessing the Dark Lord. The man who stood before them did not deserve their fear, or their respect. He almost deserved their pity.  


Almost.  


Voldemort's eyes shot daggers at Ron, then at each of them in turn. He did not speak.  


"What now?" Harry asked. He turned to Professors Snape and Green. "We can't Stun him."  


"Why not take him in just like this?" Ron answered. "Carry him right to the Ministry. I'll help."  


"Ron," Hermione said, "I don't think that's such a good idea. Remember Pettigrew, our third year?" Harry realized she was right. Since Pettigrew had escaped from them on the night they first realized who he was, Harry didn't trust physical restraints to hold any wizard--especially Voldemort.  


"Hermione has a point," Green said. "Besides, we don't even know that we can trust the Ministry, with Fudge in charge. Remember, he doesn't even believe that Voldemort is alive. How is he going to react when we bring that--" she motioned toward Voldemort-- "into his office, bound? Would he even accept the fact that it really is Voldemort? Besides, even if we could convince him, I don't trust Fudge to keep him locked safely away somewhere."  


"What do you suggest, then?" Snape asked her. Clearly he was at a loss, though his belligerent tone veiled that sentiment very thinly.  


Professor Green thought for a moment, then said, "You take the three of them to the fireplace inside, and call my Grandfather. I'll stay out here."  


"But," Hermione interjected, "no one knows where Professor Dumbledore is. Professor McGonagall either. They've gone to look for you!"  


Professor Green considered this. "Try Mrs. Figg's. If they went looking for me, they would have started there."  


Snape looked hesitant. "And what are you going to do in the meantime?"  


"This," she said.  


She reached down to her belt and brought up the pouch that Harry had seen tied next to the knife. Carefully she untied the string that kept it closed, and turned it over, lightly pouring a dust-like substance into her hand.  


Snape bristled. "Do you really think that's wise?" he sneered. "He would almost certainly choose the Dark side--"  


"And what of that?" Green asked in a quiet voice, staring at him gravely.   


"Do you realize what you'd be doing? Creating a Dementor--"  


"--And ridding the world of the most evil wizard alive." She continued to stare at Snape, unblinking. "I know how to handle a Dementor, Professor. I do not, on the other hand, have a clue how to deal with a powerful Dark wizard against whom no defensive spell, charm, hex, or curse can be cast. If you have a better idea how to deal with him, I would be delighted to hear it." She had taken on a formidable air as she spoke. Harry was convinced; and even if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have argued with her.  


Snape stared at Green angrily for a moment, then turned on his heel and headed toward the archway.  


"Go with him!" she instructed Harry, Ron, and Hermione, as she began walking in a circle around Voldemort, pouring more phoenix ash onto the ground all the while. Each step was carefully measured. As she walked, she uttered the incantation:  


"_Accio animus zamius, optare bonum, an optare pernicies ..._"   


Meanwhile, Snape made his way toward the exit. He motioned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione to follow him, which they did without speaking. Before they reached the archway, however, a hooded form emerged from it.  


His heart lurched excitedly, and Harry sighed in relief--hopefully this was Dumbledore, or McGonagall--he couldn't quite make out the shape in the darkness. Snape stopped and stood motionless, peering at the figure; behind him, Ron, Hermione, and Harry did the same. Before anyone had the chance to speak, the figure muttered a spell.   


_"Petrificus Totalus!"_  


The spell hit Harry first. As he felt every muscle in his body tense, he fell backward helplessly, toppling into Ron and pushing him over backwards like a domino. Instantly the figure cast the spell twice more. Snape fell unceremoniously onto his back; Hermione was also hit.  


Harry could not see Ron's face, but he felt his friend squirming under his back, and knew that Ron was not immobilized. Ron, however, soon stopped stirring, and he made no sound. Harry thought he noticed Ron's breathing slowing.  


The man stopped in the midst of the four motionless bodies, surveying them in the darkness. His hood still obscured his face. Then, apparently convinced that the four were immobilized, he made his way toward the other end of the garden, where Green stood Summoning Voldemort.  


Now it was safe for Ron to stand. He easily pulled himself from beneath Harry's weight. From where Harry lay, he could see Ron's face- jaw set, eyes flashing--as well as the man who stood with his back to them both, watching the Summoning. Ron glanced apologetically at Harry and Hermione as he began to creep up silently behind the anonymous figure, careful to remain in the shadow of the garden wall.  


The figure didn't move to stop Professor Green as she carried on with the Summoning, oblivious to his presence. She had finished making the circle now; the crimson flames grew high, suspending Voldemort's form at the tip of a fiery vortex. Harry couldn't be sure, but it looked like--was he--_smiling_? He certainly wasn't shouting in protest, as Mundungus Fletcher had.  


At his Summoning, Fletcher had appeared as a hole cut into space, through which a spectator could see shafts of light, patches of darkness, and streaks of gray. But Voldemort was different. It was as though he were a shadow suspended in the center of the vortex, with a few tiny shafts of light piercing the darkness. Within a few minutes, the flames had died down, and he landed--on his feet--in the center of the circle.  


There was no change in his appearance. He laughed again, his usual cold, shrill cackle. Harry did not shudder, but only because his muscles were immobilized by the Full-Body Bind. The stranger behind Professor Green stood still.  


"No," she whispered. "It can't be. It's not possible. No one comes through the Summoning unchanged."  


"My dear," said Voldemort, still smiling grimly, "you fail to realize: the Summoning is very old magic. Old enough, in fact, to have been included in that ancient catalog of protective charms."   


He rolled up his left sleeve. Branded on his arm, just as on his followers', was the most familiar glyph from the scroll--a skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth. 

"The Dark Mark," Professor Green said weakly.  


"Of course. You thought it was only for decoration?" Voldemort taunted. "Of course not. It was just good fortune that it made as useful an emblem for my cause as it did a means of calling my servants--and keeping them in _my_ service, rather than yours. Don't you agree, Julius?"  


"Not that it was ever tested. Until tonight," intoned the figure behind Professor Green. She whirled around to face the man who had calmly watched her Summoning Lord Voldemort.   


"You?" she gasped. The man lowered his hood. Harry could just discern the profile of Professor Thorne, looking singularly satisfied at Green's disbelief.  


"Who else could have provided the Dark Lord with the _proper_ translation of the scroll that Harry Potter found in your trunk? Thanks for that, by the way; I was overjoyed to have it back in my possession."  


Professor Green looked as puzzled as Harry felt.  


"Of course I had seen it before," he said, in answer to her unspoken question. "In my work translating ancient charms for the Department of Mysteries. I handed a translation over to my Lord, of course--at least, as complete a translation as I could manage at the time. I've learned a lot about the dialect since then, you see, it's a very unusual one--but I digress." He cleared his throat and continued. "That was before the scroll mysteriously went missing.  


"It occurred around the time that I was forced to begin working with James Potter. Rather nice fellow, for a Muggle-lover. Seemed very interested in the scroll. Though, of course, he was forbidden from telling even a fellow Unspeakable why.   


"Then the scroll went missing, just as I was beginning to make some real progress on it, and I was assigned to a new project. But that one had seemed so promising--so I grew suspicious. I wondered whether some in the Department had guessed at my--true sympathies--even though they wouldn't have been able to prove anything.  


"So I left. I left the country and worked in the Middle East for several years, but once I heard the rumors of the Dark Lord's return, I applied for the job at Hogwarts. As luck would have it, there was an opening, and I was hired. Then, lo and behold! You come to me with a scroll newly discovered in a trunk once issued to an Unspeakable. Remarkable, really; the Ministry usually scours those trunks inside and out before reissuing them. Whoever hid it must have wanted it to stay hidden." He shrugged. "But I say, it's just as well that no one else has it. Can you imagine? Every half-witted Mudblood and Muggle-loving wizard marked from head to toe with protective glyphs-- spells bouncing all around--utter chaos." He grimaced in disdain. "Although I suspect," he said, nodding in the direction of Pettigrew's lifeless form, "you've seen a little of that tonight anyway."  


From the look on her face, Harry could tell that Professor Green's mind was reeling. "You were a Death Eater all along? How--how is it possible that I didn't know?"  


Thorne laughed. "You didn't speak with me about the scroll directly very much, did you? Mostly through Miss Granger, as I recall. And when you and I did talk, it was easy for me to dole out truths and half-truths just deceptive as any bald-faced lie." He drew himself up proudly. "I am a scholar of languages, after all.  


"At any rate, I always did think that reading emotions was much less effective than simply reading minds. You ought to look into the Dark Arts yourself." He chuckled heartily at his joke.  


"Enough, Julius," Voldemort muttered, making his way toward the cauldron. "I believe that my potion is finally finished. I have waited long enough for this; I do not wish to wait any longer just to hear your self important babbling." He paused. "Take care of her, if you please."  


Thorne nodded, and pointed his wand at Green. "Goodbye, Professor," he said simply.  


Before Thorne had the chance to utter a word, a shriek erupted from Voldemort as he stood over the cauldron. Thorne and Green both looked at him, alarmed. "WHERE IS IT?" Voldemort ran toward them, wand pointed at Green. "TELL ME WHERE IT IS!"  


Eyes wide in apparent confusion, Green said, "What do you mean? Maybe there was some mistake." To Harry's surprise, she seemed to know what Voldemort was talking about.  


"THERE WAS NO MISTAKE!" Voldemort roared. At once, with a visible effort, he calmed himself. "You will tell me what you and your--friends- have done with it."  


Apparently searching for a reply, Green stared back open-mouthed. Suddenly, Harry saw Ron emerge from the shadows nearby, wearing his regular street clothes and carrying a black bundle. For some reason, he must have taken off his school robes.  


_"Finite Incantatem!"_ he whispered, pointing his wand at Harry. Grateful, Harry stood and performed the same spell on Hermione, while Ron performed it on Snape. They stood up, trying to remain as quiet as possible.  


"Thorne, where are the others?" they heard Voldemort ask suddenly.  


"Here!" Snape yelled, fishing something--it looked like a regular quill -out of his pocket. He held it out toward the students as they eyed each other dubiously.  


"TAKE HOLD!" he yelled again, still holding it out to them. Then understanding dawned on Harry, and he reached out to touch the Portkey as Hermione and Ron did the same.   


"STOP THEM!" Voldemort screamed. But they were too fast; the last thing they heard before their feet left the ground was the very first syllable of a Stunning spell aimed in their direction.  


Harry felt the rough stone dungeon floor materialize under his feet. He steadied himself, narrowly avoiding falling headlong onto the floor. He had only just regained his balance as Snape was opening the door of his office and motioning the three of them to follow him out into the corridor. Harry noticed that Snape now carried the bundle of Ron's robes. Harry shot Ron a questioning look, but Snape spoke before Ron had the chance to.  


"Dumbledore's office, and be discreet, if you please. Quickly!"   


"But what about Professor Green?" Hermione asked.  


Snape stared down at her icily. "If you prefer to attempt to retrieve her yourself, then by all means, do so," he replied bitterly. "I, on the other hand, think it wisest to consult Professor Dumbledore, if we can find him." He turned on his heel briskly and left the office. Ron, Harry, and Hermione followed.  


Harry felt supremely odd to find himself walking safely through the corridors of Hogwarts only minutes after facing down Voldemort. Groups of students lingered on the stairwells, talking and laughing. Fifth-years shuffled down corridors, visibly nervous about O.W.L.s. A few made eye contact with Harry, and he nodded at them; most took in Snape's grim demeanor and shot back a sympathetic look. They didn't seem to notice the bundle Snape carried.  


"Licorice whip," Snape muttered, causing the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office to spring aside. He ushered Harry, Ron, and Hermione up the stairway first, then followed them. The four of them sprang into Dumbledore's office; behind them, Snape closed the door.  


They looked around; Snape called out for the Headmaster, but the office and adjoining rooms were apparently empty.  


Snape strode to the fireplace. "You'll be safe here," he said, rummaging through the objects on the mantel for a moment before producing a handful of Floo powder. "Wait for me or another teacher to fetch you. _Do not leave._"   


As he moved to toss the handful of powder into the fire, however, a whirling figure appeared in the midst of the flames. A second later, Dumbledore emerged. He straightened and stepped out of the fire just as Professor McGonagall appeared in the flames behind him.   


While Professor McGonagall stepped out of the fireplace, Dumbledore acknowledged Snape. "Severus," he said, but stopped when he saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Slowly, Dumbledore looked at each face in turn.   


"May I be so bold as to guess," he said quietly, "that you have news?" He stared at Snape; Dumbledore looked reserved as ever, but his features appeared strangely taut and strained.  


Snape spoke quickly. "Headmaster, we found Professor Green--and the Dark Lord. It would take too long to explain. But you were right about the Imperius Curse."  


Dumbledore nodded patiently. He had the look of a man expecting terrible news.  


"She's still there, with him and one of his Death Eaters. We four had to leave, we had no choice. Once Mister Weasley found--" he held out the bundle wrapped in Ron's robes-- "this, we couldn't stay any longer. It was too dangerous."   


Snape fell silent, still offering Dumbledore Ron's robes and whatever was wrapped up in them. Slowly, carefully, Dumbledore took the bundle, and began to unwrap it. When he was able to see what lay inside, he let out a very long, deep breath. Harry and Hermione were practically bursting with curiosity to see what Dumbledore saw, but neither dared to interrupt--clearly he was deep in thought. He handed the bundle to Professor McGonagall.  


McGonagall looked down at the bundle, and then up at Dumbledore. Harry thought she seemed a bit paler than when she had stepped out of the fire. "Albus, what does it mean?"  


At length he said, "I must confess, I've no idea."  


Snape shook his head. "Neither do I. I would be hard-pressed to guess at _how_ he did it--let alone why."  


"You say Ron made the discovery?" Dumbledore asked, but he was looking at Ron, not Snape.  


"Yes, sir," Ron answered. He spoke clearly and forcefully, for all the world as if he hadn't just nearly been killed. "I heard You-Know-Who--I mean, I heard _Voldemort_--" he enunciated the name slowly, resolutely-- "saying he had a potion that would give him immortality somehow. I had the chance to get at it when no one was looking. I thought I might be able to ruin it. I never expected--what I found."  


Hermione couldn't take the suspense any longer. "Excuse me, but what's--"  


Just then the door to Dumbledore's office burst open to reveal Professor Green standing--barely--on the threshold. Her robes were tattered and horribly bloodstained where the knife had ripped through them. Her hair was disheveled, her face was dirty, and she looked as though she might collapse at any second. But she was beaming.   


She shot a clear-eyed glance at every face in the room. Before she had the chance to speak a word, Dumbledore crossed to the place where she stood and embraced her wordlessly.  


Now a sheepish smile, like that of a child embarrassed by his mother's praise, crossed her face. As Dumbledore stepped back, she looked to Snape, Harry, Ron, and Hermione.  


"Thought you could leave me behind, did you? Nice try."  


"But how did you--" Hermione began.  


"Voldemort didn't think to put an Anti-Apparition barrier around the garden. Can't blame him, really--they're terribly complicated and time consuming. And I suppose he didn't expect Professor Snape or me to Disapparate and leave you three there with him. After I saw you all escape, it was a simple matter, really, to Apparate to someplace close to Hogwarts. Took me a few minutes to walk up from Hogsmeade, though." She stopped, found an armchair, and sat, catching her breath.  


Professor McGonagall looked from one face to another. She appeared to have regained some color, Harry noticed--five consecutive end-of-year crises involving her students must have made her a little more shockproof. She did, however, seem to be in danger of losing her patience.  


"Persephone--Severus--Albus--would _someone_ please explain what is happening here? _And whose child is that?_"  


Professor Green started, and her expression changed instantly. She looked gravely at Professor McGonagall. "Child? So--so the potion worked? I didn't think--I mean, I had hoped it wouldn't--"  


Every eye in the room was now focused on Green, but she didn't seem to notice. Her full attention was trained on the bundle in Professor McGonagall's arms. She stood and crossed the room toward McGonagall. "Minerva--may I--?" she asked quietly. McGonagall handed her the bundle.  


Green pulled back a fold of Ron's robes, and Harry could just see a tiny face, its eyes closed, a miniature fist propped lazily against a cheek.  


"Oh no," Professor Green whispered.  


***  


**Author's Note:** Okay, so apparently the end of the last chapter confused everyone in the world. Hopefully this chapter cleared up who died, who cursed who, and who actually _got_ cursed.   


Now, of course, _this_ chapter is going to cause more confusion, but hopefully all your questions will be answered in time. :)  


Everyone at the HPC gave me really helpful comments, especially Katie, Mellie, wolf, Rebecca, Teri, and Morgan. Oh, and this story has a Yahoo! Group; feel free to join for chapter updates and witty (and sometimes not so-witty) banter. Groups.yahoo.com/group/heirofslytherin 


	31. The Immortality Spell

* * *

Harry's mind raced to concoct an explanation, but couldn't settle on one that made sense. He looked around the room, and noticed Fawkes standing unobtrusively on his perch near the door. Today Fawkes looked like neither a half-plucked turkey nor his usual scarlet-and-gold-plumed self; he was very small, and resembled a young chick, its tiny body covered with downy red feathers. Apparently, he'd just gone through a Burning.  


Harry turned away from Fawkes and looked from one face to the next, wondering whether anyone else understood what was happening. Dumbledore stared pensively at Green--Harry got the feeling that he was searching his vast memory for a satisfactory explanation but, like Harry, was coming up empty-handed. Snape's tight-lipped, impatient expression thinly concealed his bewilderment. McGonagall still stared in open puzzlement. Hermione frowned thoughtfully; Ron, surprisingly calm, looked expectantly at the teachers as though waiting for a lesson. Everyone's eyes were on Green, but no one spoke.  


Still holding the child, Green sank slowly into a chair near Dumbledore's desk and took a deep breath. After a few minutes, she met the expectant eyes watching her, one pair at a time.  


Weakly, she began to speak. "When he said--when he didn't find anything in the cauldron--I didn't think it worked, you see."   


"What do you mean?" Professor McGonagall asked, more calmly this time.  


Green blinked and turned to McGonagall. "The potion. That Voldemort was brewing." Distractedly, Harry realized that no one in the room winced at the mention of Voldemort's name. "When he said there was nothing in the cauldron, I assumed it hadn't worked. But it did. I suppose that you--" she looked at Ron-- "got there first?"  


Ron nodded.  


"But, how did _you_ know what the potion was for?" Hermione asked Professor Green.  


"I was there, remember? Under the Imperius curse. Oh, I had no will to speak of, but the entire time I was with Voldemort, I was aware of everything going on around me. And I overheard quite a lot of the conversation between him and Pettigrew. I knew exactly what they were planning--I just couldn't do anything about it." She closed her eyes and looked down, a pained expression on her face.  


"Headmaster," Snape broke in, "can't the explanations wait? Professor Green was badly injured in the confrontation with Voldemort. She should see Madam Pomfrey at once."  


For the first time, Green looked down to survey her dirty, blood stained robes. Then she looked up and shook her head conclusively. "No, it's alright. I'm fine."  


Snape stared at her levelly. "Professor Green, you were stabbed through the heart--I saw it myself." Everyone saw Green bristle at the reminder, but Harry's involuntary flinch went unnoticed.   


Snape proceeded to recount the evening's events, from the moment he left the fireplace in his office to the moment Dumbledore found them. When Snape had finished, he turned his steely gaze back to Professor Green and said, "Do you really think it wise to continue without seeing Madam Pomfrey first?"  


Green considered this for a moment. Finally, she answered simply: "Yes. I want to tell them what I know now, while it's still fresh in my mind. Before my memory has the chance to rewrite things or leave some of them out entirely."  


Dumbledore weighed this for a moment. Finally he nodded. "In that case, I think," he said as he looked to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "that Mister Potter, Miss Granger, and Mister Weasley should stay, as well. They ought to understand what they've just been through. Unless, of course, one of _you_ has a life-threatening injury?"  


Ron, Hermione, and Harry shook their heads. Hermione spoke up. "No, sir. I'd _like_ to stay." Harry felt the same way--he was beyond tired, but more than anything he wanted to finally know exactly what was going on.   


Dumbledore pointed a wand at one of the chairs before the fireplace, and it scuttled sideways a few feet. He took a seat directly facing Green. "Before we begin, would anyone like a peppermint?" he asked, drawing several candies from his pocket and glancing around the room. "No?" Ron and Hermione exchanged slightly incredulous frowns. "Alright, Persephone. I think you had better start at the beginning."  


She smiled wearily. "A million details are running around in my head, and I'm not sure how to tell the story in a way that will make sense."  


"Then allow me to help you. Tell us about this potion."  


Green nodded, visibly grateful for his direction. McGonagall found a chair nearby and sat down, but her eyes never left Dumbledore and Green. Snape remained standing. Harry, Ron, and Hermione found that they all fit very comfortably on the sofa before the fireplace.   


"That's the part I understand the least," she said. "I know more about what Voldemort was planning than about what he had already done, or how he'd done it. But the potion must've been the same one he'd been brewing all year. The one he had Professor Snape giving him ingredients for." Harry glanced at Snape, whose expression had not changed. That possibility must have already occurred to him.  


"Very well, we shall seek details about the potion itself later. But it was meant to create that child?" Dumbledore nodded toward the baby sleeping in Professor Green's arms.  


She looked down. "Yes," she said after the briefest of pauses.  


"Why?"   


She looked back up at Dumbledore. "Voldemort wanted an heir," she said simply.  


The other teachers were visibly taken aback. McGonagall gasped. "But that makes no sense," Snape interjected quietly.  


"Severus. Minerva." Dumbledore held out a hand to quiet them, but he had clearly taken Snape's point. "He's right, Persephone. Voldemort expects to become immortal; he has no need for a protégé, or for an heir. Even if he weren't consumed with the concept of immortality, and vain enough to believe himself capable of achieving it--even if he anticipated his own death--he has not the least bit of concern for any living soul apart from himself. Why would he want an heir?"  


Green shook her head. "You misunderstand me. Voldemort isn't looking for someone to teach, or to leave his legacy to. He _needs_ a biological descendant in order to gain immortality. It has to do with the spell."  


Snape and McGonagall both flinched. "He has an Immortality Spell of some kind, then?" Dumbledore asked.  


Green closed her eyes and nodded. Suddenly her eyes opened and she was still.   


"Thorne!" she exclaimed. "Of course! Of course, it had to be him!"  


"What about Thorne?" Dumbledore interrupted.  


"I'm sorry, but I've just realized--of course he was working for Voldemort, it all makes sense--because Voldemort got the Immortality Spell from an ancient Moabite text."  


"Not _my_ scroll!" Hermione exclaimed. Apparently months of translating the scroll had given her a kind of proprietary attachment to it.  


"No, not that one, Hermione, but one like it. You see, Thorne worked in the Department of Mysteries before he came here--he told us as much, just now--translating ancient magical texts. That was when he first discovered the scroll with the protective glyphs--the one you've seen--" she nodded at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Well, at the same time, he also found a very, very old Immortality Spell, written in the same Moabite dialect."  


The room was a silent for a moment. Then Ron asked, slightly incredulously, "Do you mean to say that other wizards have tried to become immortal?"  


Dumbledore turned in his chair and regarded Ron patiently. "Of course. Human resourcefulness is not a recent development, Mister Weasley." Ron reddened slightly as Dumbledore continued. "In the very first moment that human beings realized they eventually would die, they also realized that they didn't like it. And they began to try to avoid it--Muggles with their sciences, and wizards with magic."  


Dumbledore spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "Muggles have their codes of ethics to prevent the unscrupulous from lengthening their own lives at the expense of others, just as we have ours. Unfortunately, in both communities there have been those who consider themselves above such nuisances as considerations of right and wrong. They conduct experiments in secret, unhindered by the constraints of either law or conscience."  


He turned back to Professor Green. "You mentioned that Voldemort would need a descendant in order to perform this Immortality Spell. How is that?"  


Professor Green looked down at the bundle she held, and shifted uncomfortably. "Well--whoever the ancient wizards were who developed this spell--they weren't concerned with its effects on others, either." She sounded nervous. "You see, even a Muggle historian can tell you--the Moabites are one of several ancient cultures who are known to have performed--ceremonies involving--child sacrifice."   


Dumbledore nodded. Professor McGonagall made a strange, half-choked noise. Ron grimaced.  


"I did a little research on Moabite culture after Harry found that scroll," Green continued. "What the Muggle historians don't know is that those sacrifices were a part of early attempts at the Immortality Spell."   


McGonagall swallowed, then said, "Just a moment. If the existence of this spell is a well-known fact, then why have I never heard of it? And wouldn't we have assumed straight away--_years_ ago--that Voldemort would try to perform it?"  


"Ah, Minerva," Dumbledore answered, "you forget, no one knew that the spells had been written down, much less that they still existed, except Professor Thorne. Is that right?" He looked back to Green.  


She nodded. "Yes. Based on what I overheard, Thorne was the only person in the Department of Mysteries with the expertise to translate the text. The existence of the spell was only known to him and whoever he chose to tell--and he chose to tell only Voldemort, of course."  


Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione fidgeting slightly, as though something bothered her. "Um," she broke in quietly, "excuse me, but did they--did they ever get it to work? The wizards who invented the spell, I mean." Harry could see now why she was nervous. The idea of a band of ancient, immortal Dark wizards roaming the earth made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  


"No ... at least, I don't believe so. I think we would have heard of them if they had. They'd be incredibly powerful." Green smiled comfortingly at Hermione, but Harry wished she sounded more certain. "Anyway, Voldemort believes he's found their mistake, as well as a way around it."  


Ron leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "So Voldemort brewed the potion in order to create an heir," he pointed at the bundle in Professor Green's arms, "in order to sacrifice it as part of this Immortality Spell. What I don't understand is, couldn't he just use _any_ child? Why go to the trouble of brewing up his own?"  


"That's a good question." Professor Green frowned, as though she were trying to combine several strands of thought into one coherent thread. "First, there's something you have to understand. Every person carries within themselves the potential for their own immortality. Ordinary people achieve it through their children--by giving life to the next generation, who gives life to the next, and so on.  


"It's not surprising that Voldemort would find this arrangement- unacceptable. He's not interested in being a part of anything larger than himself--if indeed anything larger than himself exists in his mind. He wants to live on exactly as he is, with his own consciousness intact."   


She looked down and said quietly, almost to herself, "At first I couldn't understand why anyone would want to perpetuate such a miserable existence. But when I met him, I understood--he's not miserable at all. He actually _enjoys_ destroying people's lives. Over time, he has gradually killed the every part of himself that would have objected to his evil acts, so that there's almost nothing decent left in him now. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen--" She trailed off, and after a moment she shut her eyes and shook her head as though trying to shake the thought loose.  


"_Almost_ nothing decent left?" Snape sneered. "You saw his Summoning as well as I did! Of course he chose the Dark side, there's nothing left in him except the Dark. He's not even _human_--" Green opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't get the chance.  


"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, turning toward Snape. "I beg to differ. It is certainly convenient to say that Voldemort has completely divested himself of his humanity, but the difficult truth of the matter is that he _is_ human--and it's important that we do not forget that. We must remember how much we have in common with him. The difference is in our choices, not in our nature." Snape stared back at the Headmaster, jaw clenched, but did not answer. His black eyes didn't flash with anger, as Harry now realized he had expected. After a moment of meeting Dumbledore's gaze, Snape looked down.  


"Persephone, please continue," Dumbledore said, motioning to Green. "You were saying, about the spell--?"  


She looked from Snape to Dumbledore. "Right. Well, the spell makes use of the immortal potential bound up in a person's own offspring. It only works for a parent who sacrifices his own child. And it had to be his _only_ child, since in that case _all_ of the parent's immortal potential resides in the one person.   


"That was the mistake the inventors of the spell made. They would sacrifice one child of many, not realizing that their immortal potential was spread out among all their children. So sacrificing any one of them had no effect."  


Professor McGonagall had heard enough. She shut her eyes tight and shook her head. "Who could possibly--who could do such a thing? It's too perverse!"  


"Voldemort could," Snape answered instantly. Dumbledore nodded, then turned back to Professor Green.  


"So, we know _why_ this child is here, even if we don't fully understand _how_. But we still don't know why he needed you."  


Green sighed, and nodded.

"Not only does the victim have to be the only child of the witch or wizard casting the spell," she began hesitantly, "but--it also has to be _magical_. The spell won't work if the victim is a Muggle or a Squib. Something about the transfer of immortal potential--both parties have to be magical in order for it to work.   


"The Progenetic elixir that Voldemort brewed is a Dark potion that requires the blood of two donors--one male, one female--in order to create a totally new person from that genetic material."   


"But he could have used anyone's blood, couldn't he?" Hermione put in. "Well, any witch, I suppose."  


"He didn't want to take any chances. He wanted to be as sure as possible that this child would be magical. So he chose a pureblood witch from a magical family whose lineage contains no Muggles or Squibs as far back as anyone can trace--even the Malfoys have a Squib second cousin, much as they'd hate to admit it--and Voldemort wanted to be absolutely sure."   


Dumbledore nodded pensively; she turned to him. "I think the fact that I'm your granddaughter was just--a bonus. It gave him a chance to strike out at you--kill two birds with one stone, as they say," she muttered grimly.  


Dumbledore considered her for a moment--and then, to Harry's astonishment, he smiled. "I can see that it is getting late." He stood up and looked down at her. "You only use cliches when you are very tired, my dear. But as much as I would love to send you all to your beds, I am afraid we still have one or two things left to discuss before you leave here tonight."  


Dumbledore crossed the room to stand before Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and looked down at the three of them.  


"Do you understand the gravity of the situation in which we find ourselves?"  


They nodded.  


"Please indulge an old man's fancy, and allow me to state the obvious, for clarity's sake. That child--" he pointed to the bundle that Professor Green still held-- "is the living key to Voldemort's immortality. If he is to have what he seeks, she must die."  


_She_. So it was a girl. For some reason, Harry had been thinking of the baby as a boy.  


"Not only that, but if Voldemort obtains immortality, I don't think I have to tell you that the consequences for the wizarding world--as well as for the Muggle world--would be disastrous."  


They nodded again. Of course they understood. What was Dumbledore getting at?  


"For those reasons, you must not tell anyone what has transpired tonight. You especially must not mention the existence or identity of that child."  


"Of course," Ron answered.   


"We understand," Harry and Hermione interjected.  


Dumbledore looked satisfied. "Good," he said. "Now, there is just one matter left to discuss: O.W.L.s."  


Ron brightened instantly. "Are we excused from taking them?" Hermione looked from Dumbledore to Ron, and back again, with an expression of deep consternation.  


Dumbledore chuckled--an earnest, heartfelt laugh the likes of which Harry hadn't heard from him all year. "No, Mister Weasley, I am afraid not. In fact, quite the opposite." Hermione relaxed a bit. Now it was Ron's turn to look dismayed.   


"I apologize but, although it would seem appropriate to exempt you three from O.W.L.s on account of tonight's events, it is more necessary than ever that you take them. Your absence would be noted by your classmates, and all of your teachers who are not currently standing in this room would come to me with questions. And," he said firmly, shaking his head, "above all else, we must not invite questions. The fewer people who know, or even wonder, what happened tonight, the safer that child will be. The safer we'll all be."  


All at once, Harry felt exhausted. It was almost as if all of this were happening to someone else, and Harry was lost somewhere inside him, watching it.   


"Now," Dumbledore said, clasping his hands together, "I think that it is time for us to adjourn. Minerva, would you mind escorting Harry, Ron, and Hermione to Gryffindor tower?"  


"Of course not," McGonagall responded tersely. Her face had resumed its usual stern expression, but Harry sensed that she was feeling more speechless than reserved at the moment. She opened the office door and motioned to the three students. Slowly, they stood.  


"Professor." Hermione's voice sounded uncharacteristically small. She looked worriedly in Green's direction. "The little girl--what will happen to her?"  


Green's smile faded; she blinked soberly."I'm not sure, Hermione. But we'll find a place for her. A safe place."  


Hermione nodded, and Professor McGonagall led them out of the room. 

***  


As he sat down to breakfast the next morning, Harry felt thankful that he and the other fifth-years still had two days left before O.W.L.s would begin. For the hundredth time, he pushed the previous day's events out of his mind. He hadn't waited in the common room for Ron and Hermione -- he hadn't felt particularly social.  


"Harry! There you are," said a girl's voice. He looked over his left shoulder. Smiling amiably, Ginny placed a short stack of books on the table and sat down.  


"Hullo, Ginny," Harry said, smiling back. It was a genuine smile, and Harry considered that maybe there _was_ one person he wouldn't mind talking with today. For the first time that morning, he didn't have to struggle to forget the previous day's events.   


"I looked for you--and Ron and Hermione--in the library yesterday," she said, buttering a muffin. "Then here, then in the common room. I couldn't find you _anywhere_. Where were you?"  


"Oh." He shifted nervously. He wanted to tell her, but he dared not disobey Dumbledore, especially in something as important as this. His mind raced. "We--er, we had to talk to Professor Snape." It wasn't actually untrue. It didn't make up for not being able to tell her everything, but at least it wasn't a lie.   


"Oh," she glanced at him sympathetically, then turned back to her breakfast. "You know, I did hear Colin Creevey saying something about seeing you in the corridor with Snape." She shrugged. "Didn't know if it was true, though. Anyway, listen, I wanted to tell you lot--I got an owl from Mum last night at dinner. The letter said something very interesting."  


"Oh, really?" Harry looking over at her curiously. He took a bite of his toast; he was beginning to feel a bit better.  


"Yeah," she replied. "The Ministry's raided Malfoy's mansion again. Dad thinks Lucius Malfoy might've been helping You-Know-Who."  


"But there's nothing about it in today's _Prophet_," Hermione chimed in from the other side of the table. Harry was very glad to hear her interrupt, as he was having difficulty swallowing his toast. "Hi, Harry." She smiled down at Harry and Ginny, and took a seat. Ron nodded as he sat down next to her.  


"Hey Ginny. Hey Harry." Ron's smile was a little forced, and there was an uncharacteristic heaviness to his tone. Fortunately, Ginny didn't seem to notice; she was paying more attention to Hermione.  


"It's just been delivered, see?" Hermione held up today's edition of the _Daily Prophet_. "Nothing about the Ministry raiding Malfoy's."  


"Well, not the whole Ministry, of course," Ginny chided. "And it wouldn't be in the _Prophet_ anyhow. According to Mum, Fudge's being as thick as ever. No, Dad heard something, and sent people in under the pretense of investigating misuses of Muggle artifacts."  


"Did they find anything?" Ron asked.  


Ginny shook her head. "No. If Malfoy was helping He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named, he must have hid the evidence before Dad got there."  


Just then, Malfoy entered the Great Hall, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing him as always. Malfoy looked lazily around the Hall, and his gaze settled on Ron. He smirked; his eyes narrowed in a combination of triumph and hatred.  


"Come on over here if you've got something to say, Malfoy," Ron muttered under his breath. "I'm not afraid of you."  


Hermione nudged him. "Let it go, Ron. It's not worth it."   


After a moment, Ron shook his head and turned back to the table. "You're right," he said. "I've got more important things to worry about." Ron shot a glance at Harry, and suddenly a wicked grin began to spread across his face.   


"Besides, there's always the train ride home, isn't there?"

***  


_Author's Note:_ No, it's not the end! You'll know when it ends because you'll see the words "The end" there. So this isn't it. One more chapter will do it, I think.  


This chapter took quite a long time, and I apologize. I blame a long Christmas vacation.   


I had help yet again from the folks at the HJP (formerly HPC, formerly UHPMS) forums, especially Rebecca, Teri, wolf550e, Mellie, Katie, Elizabeth, Jazi, and Emily. Thank you!  


The people at the Yahoo! group are also full of coolness. You too can be cool: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/heirofslytherin.

  



	32. Snape's Proposal

For Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the next week and a half were occupied with studying for, and then taking, O.W.L.s. Harry often wondered what had become of the little girl from the cauldron. And he was sure that Ron and Hermione wondered, too. 

Occasionally, the three of them would take a break from their studies and make the trip to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to visit Hagrid. He was one of only two people whom Dumbledore had told about Voldemort's attempt at immortality, and about the infant. At first Ron and Hermione peppered Hagrid with questions about the baby's whereabouts and Dumbledore's plans. But after hearing the same answer ("Yeh'll know when Dumbledore wants yeh to know") twenty or so times, they gave up. Harry wasn't even sure that Hagrid himself knew what Dumbledore was planning. 

The other person who knew about Voldemort's latest attack was Sirius. Harry met with him frequently in Dumbledore's office. They discussed Harry's studies, his friends, his imminent summer at the Dursleys' (although Harry always tried to change the subject), and Quidditch. But they didn't talk about Voldemort or his plans. Harry was weary of the topic. Plus, he got the strange feeling that Sirius felt guilty for not being able to help Harry fight the Dark Lord. Sirius never said so, but since his job was to pass intelligence between Lupin and Dumbledore, Harry got the impression that Sirius felt that he should have known what was going to happen. Harry didn't know exactly how to tell him that this was a ridiculous thought. 

Soon, O.W.L.s were upon the fifth-years. Harry and Ron's easiest exam by far was Defense against the Dark Arts--though that may have been by design. As the trio exited the classroom, Professor Green winked at them. Hermione looked slightly taken aback, but said nothing. 

Potions was another matter. Ron seemed to be having an easy time of it as Harry watched from across the dungeon--they were to sit as far apart as possible, on Snape's orders. But Harry was having trouble remembering when to use Jobberknoll feathers and when to use Fwooper feathers. (Which one went into a memory potion? Or was that Diricawl feathers?) 

Fortunately, he guessed correctly, and passed. In fact, Harry and Ron passed all of their O.W.L.s, finishing a full two days before poor Hermione. She was just beginning to question the soundness of her decision to take thirteen O.W.L.s, although of course it was now far too late to do anything about it. 

The night before her last exam--Arithmancy--she was definitely looking the worse for wear. She hardly spoke a word to anyone during dinner. She only looked up from her books to nibble at her fish disinterestedly. 

"Cheer up, Hermione," Ron told her in the common room afterward. "In a few hours you'll be done, and then you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you're the smartest witch ever to cast a spell at Hogwarts." He paused thoughtfully. "Of course, it's all for nothing if you die of stress before your sixth year." He shot her a ridiculously exaggerated smile. She looked up from her textbook--_Magic by Numbers_ by Abbacus Gryme -only long enough to cast a withering glance in his direction. 

This was exactly the affirmation Ron was looking for. He gave Harry a satisfied smile. Then his eyes brightened as though something had just occurred to him. 

"Well, Harry, _we're_ done. Feel like celebrating?" 

Harry frowned. "What did you have in mind?" 

Ron lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I'd rather fancy one of those eclairs from the House-elves." Hermione cleared her throat irritably and glanced up at him for the briefest fraction of a second. "Er--I mean, we could visit Dobby--and Winky--and see how they're getting on." 

Ginny, who had been reviewing her Transfiguration notes across the table from Harry, looked puzzled. "You two won't be able to get anywhere near the kitchens, not at this hour. If you're caught, you'll get detention." 

"Right," Ron said, suppressing a grin. He was doing a surprisingly good job of acting earnest. "We forgot about that. We'll just, er, go upstairs then, eh Harry?" 

Harry nodded and followed Ron up the steps to their dormitory. Once they were safely inside, and had made certain they were alone, Ron turned to Harry. "That was close. I forgot Ginny didn't know about your Invisibility Cloak." 

"Er--yeah," Harry mumbled as he opened his trunk and retrieved the cloak. He pulled it out, watching the silvery fall of the fabric between his fingers. "Be more careful next time, will you?" 

"Alright. Let's put it on." 

As Harry slipped the cloak over himself and Ron, he noticed that it wasn't as easy to cover both of them with it--Ron had always been tall, and Harry must have grown at least two inches over the past year. But cover them it did, just barely, and they had a surprisingly easy time sneaking down the stairs into the common room. They only had to wait a couple of minutes for the portrait hole to swing open. When two second years climbed through, Harry and Ron seized their chance and stole out into the dark, nearly empty corridor. They made their way to the first floor and briskly crossed to the flight of stairs that led to the kitchens. 

Harry and Ron reached the bottom of the familiar staircase, only to find themselves in an unfamiliar corridor. "Stupid moving stairs," Ron muttered. He stopped. "Wait, I think I know where we are." He grabbed Harry's arm lightly and steered him to the right. "If we follow the corridor this way," he said, rushing ahead into the darkness, "it should lead us to--" 

"A dead end," Harry sighed as they approached a stone wall. To their left and their right, half-open doors led to empty classrooms, but ahead of them, the corridor just ended. "Come on," Harry said, "let's go back." 

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor. "Somebody's coming!" Harry whispered. He prepared to flatten himself against the stone wall in the hope that whoever it was would pass into one of the open rooms off the corridor, or turn around before he and Ron could give themselves away. But to Harry's astonishment, Ron grabbed him by the arm again and pulled him through an open doorway, and into an empty classroom. 

"What are you--?" 

"Shhhh!" Ron hissed. He almost sounded like Hermione, and Harry's suspicion that they'd been spending too much time together hardened into annoyed certainty. "We'll hide in here, it's safer. Just keep quiet until they leave." 

Harry disagreed, but given the circumstances, arguing was not an option. He glanced around the room. It appeared to be empty, except for a few odd pieces of furniture--it was impossible to make out what they were in the darkness. He and Ron turned back to the crack of light streaming in from the torchlit corridor. 

The footsteps grew louder. Suddenly, a split second after Ron and Harry instinctively backed away, the door swung open. Two figures in dark robes swept into the room, past Harry and Ron. Harry squinted at them: one of them, the one carrying a torch, was definitely Professor Snape. 

Snape approached an irregularly shaped piece of furniture in the center of the room, stopped, and stood before it. Then he held his torch out close to its surface, looking the object up and down. His companion stooped behind him, peering over his shoulder. 

"Is this it?" The voice was Professor Green's. 

Cursing his bad luck, and Ron's appetite, Harry nudged his friend toward the door. Ron wouldn't budge. When Harry turned to look at him--forgetting that they were both temporarily invisible--he saw why. 

When Green and Snape had entered the room, the door had closed behind them. 

Now Harry and Ron couldn't possibly leave the room before the two teachers, and remain undetected. There being nothing else for it, Harry and Ron shuffled silently into a shadowed corner. Even if they hadn't been wearing the Invisibility Cloak, no one would have been able to see them in the darkness. They stood motionless, their backs flat against the stone wall, and hoped to stay unnoticed. 

"You never saw it before?" Snape asked. 

Green shook her head. "Never." 

Snape offered her the torch. She took it and, holding it high over her head, let out a low whistle as she ran the fingers of her free hand over what Harry supposed must be some writing inscribed across the top of the object. She had to stand on her toes to reach it. Green shifted the torch left to right as she moved her fingertips over the inscription; when she reached the end, she retraced her movement, feeling the letters from right to left. 

_"I show not your face but your heart's desire."_

Harry jerked his head to look at Ron--again, forgetting their invisibility--and felt the cloak shift as Ron did the same. They both remembered seeing that inscription, written backwards. Harry hadn't recognized it in the dark, but Green and Snape were standing before the Mirror of Erised. 

Green stepped back, still holding the torch, and looked directly into the Mirror. For a second she looked stricken, but then her expression changed to one of fascination. 

"Persephone," Snape said, positioning himself alongside her, as if to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that she saw in the Mirror. It was very odd indeed to hear Snape call anyone by her first name. He even sounded a little concerned--as though he were half-afraid she might not want to leave the Mirror. "What do you see?" 

Her gaze did not falter. She reached out her free hand and grazed the Mirror's surface with her fingertips. 

"My daughter," she said, and swallowed. "Grown. Happy. In a world where Voldemort is dead." A wistful smile crept over her face. 

Then, with an abruptness that startled Harry, she turned to Snape and stepped backward, pulling him in front of the Mirror. 

"Now," she said, her voice approaching playfulness but still quivering slightly, "what do _you_ see? Remember, there's no point in lying." 

For a moment, Snape looked defiantly downward and clenched his fists. Then he looked directly into the Mirror. After surveying it coolly for a few seconds, he turned back to Green. 

"I see," he almost whispered, his tone icy, "the same thing as you." 

She cocked her head and looked at him thoughtfully. "Hmm. That's odd," she muttered to herself. 

He bristled. "Why should it be? I have as much to lose as anyone if Voldemort gains power--" 

"No, no, no." She waved her free hand dismissively. "That's not what I meant. The odd thing wasn't what you _said_. It was the look you gave me just now. It's--it's the same one you had when you looked into the--" She spoke very slowly, turning from Snape to the Mirror. 

He glowered impatiently at her from behind a mass of matted black hair. "What is your point?" 

Calm, but obviously puzzled, she turned back to him. "I don't suppose I have one," she said. 

Snape looked back at the Mirror. He stepped around it, assessing its size and weight. "It does not appear to be a complicated task. A Levitation Charm should be adequate." 

Green hadn't moved, and her gaze was still fixed on Snape. "Right. More like a one-person job, I think. I wonder why my grandfather wanted us to take the Mirror upstairs in the first place?" 

Snape stopped inspecting the Mirror and faced Green. "My understanding is that, as it has not been needed in the dungeons for four years, Professor Trelawney plans to use it in a Divination lesson. 'Divining the secrets of the human soul,' or some such nonsense." Now it was Snape's turn to wave dismissively. "You did not take Divination as a student, if I remember correctly. Neither did I, but I believe the study of divining future events ends in the sixth year. She must plan to use this Mirror in a lesson for seventh-years." He sounded uninterested, and his voice held a hint of impatience. 

Green nodded. "Yes, of course. I know that much. I meant, I wonder why he wanted _us_ to fetch it?" She turned around, found a bracket on the wall nearby, and set her torch in it. Then she began to run her hands over the Mirror's casing and stand. Snape remained motionless. 

"Possibly because he knew that I had been meaning to speak to you." 

Green straightened instantly, almost banging her head against the side of the Mirror. "What?" 

Harry wasn't sure why he noticed it; it was a small thing, really. Snape looked just as stone-faced and sour as he always did. He had taken up his usual stance: leaning forward, motionless, almost antagonistic. But his hands, clasped awkwardly before him, trembled ever so slightly. And then Harry knew that Snape was afraid. 

Nevertheless, he spoke. 

"Have you given any thought to what is to become of the child?" 

"The question," Professor Green replied soberly, "is whether, over the past week and a half, I have thought of anything else." 

Snape's eyes flickered downward for an instant; then he fixed them again on her face. 

"And have you reached a conclusion?" 

Green was still. Very slowly and thoughtfully, she put her hands into her pockets and began to pace. 

"Obviously, the first priority is to keep her safe from Voldemort. At first I imagined giving her to someone else to raise. A family looking to adopt a child would be preferable to an orphanage. They couldn't know anything of her true history, of course. I could make up a suitable story, especially with the help of my grandfather, and convince anyone that she was an ordinary child -- insofar as any child is ordinary -- who was abandoned, or orphaned." 

Snape nodded. "You decided to have her adopted, then." 

She stopped pacing. "No. I couldn't. I realized that Voldemort suspects that she's alive, and he won't stop until he finds her. And when he found her, he would find them, too -- her adopted family. Allowing her to be adopted would put them all in danger, and I can't allow that to happen to innocent, well-meaning people -- or to Pandora." She turned away again, and resumed pacing. 

"Pandora," he whispered to himself. 

Professor Green continued. "Then, I tried to imagine who might be best able to protect her. Perhaps my grandfather, or Mrs. Figg -- but they've already had their children, and I couldn't expect them to raise another, while risking their own lives in the process." 

He nodded again. 

She stood still, facing him. "That leaves only one person. _I_ must take care of her. She's half -- _me_ -- anyway, so I suppose she's mine -- my responsibility." 

Perhaps it was Professor Green's tone, or perhaps it was her expression. Perhaps it was neither of these, but something told Harry that when Professor Green said the word _responsibility_, she did not mean a burden. Although she would have allowed it if it had been for the best, giving Pandora up would have devastated her. 

Again Snape nodded in agreement. "You have made your decision, then?" 

"Yes. There is no other option. As much as I would like to think otherwise, I believe that Voldemort will come for her. So I will be there when he does." 

Snape regarded her in silence for a moment, completely motionless, except for his clasped hands, which trembled more perceptibly now. Yet his expression was stony and his voice was as silky as ever as he said, "I wonder--" 

She looked at him curiously. "Yes?" 

"I wonder whether you have thought about all the implications." 

Her expression had not changed. "I'm afraid I don't follow." 

Just as she had done, Snape began to pace slowly back and forth before the Mirror. "I believe that you are quite right that Voldemort will seek this child until he finds her. But has it occurred to you that she might be in danger from others, as well? There are many," he said, his voice low, "who would do anything to stop Voldemort from acquiring immortality." 

"Yes, of course!" she answered. "Including us. I'm afraid I don't take your point." 

Just then, Snape gave Green a look that Harry recognized -- it was the same assessing gaze Harry had seen in his second year, just after he had inadvertently spoken Parseltongue for the first time. Harry remembered how unsettling it felt to be on the receiving end of that gaze, and silently blessed his Invisibility Cloak. 

"Is that true?" Snape asked quietly. "At this moment, the only way for Voldemort to become immortal is through Pandora. Think about that. Would you really do _anything_ to keep Voldemort from gaining immortality?" 

Silence. No emotion was evident on Green's face as she said, "You're talking about killing her." 

"Isn't it true that doing so would, once and for all, make it impossible for Voldemort to become immortal?" 

Harry's blood ran cold. He was convinced that Snape would do anything to stop Voldemort; but would he really go so far as to take the life of an innocent person -- an infant, no less? 

Green paused, then resumed pacing. "You're right. Yes, the thought had occurred to me, and I spoke wrongly when I said I would do anything to keep Voldemort from becoming immortal. Pandora is innocent. We cannot sacrifice her, even to save the entire wizarding world -- and the Muggle world as well. Not unless we want to become like Voldemort ourselves." She stopped pacing and looked up at Snape. 

"I was not suggesting that course of action," he answered. "But there are those on our side in the fight against Voldemort who would not share our convictions. If the truth about Pandora were ever to be discovered by someone willing to stop Voldemort at any cost, she would be very much at risk." 

"Right. So we've got to protect her from _both_ sides." Green nodded, unfazed. "I suspect that the same idea occurred to my grandfather. That was why he forbade us to tell anyone about Pandora. My family doesn't even know. We must not allow the truth to be found out. By anyone." 

"Which means," Snape said, with more earnestness than Harry had ever seen him show, "not only that we must conceal the facts, but also that we must prevent even the asking of questions." 

"Right. But," she frowned, "questions _will_ be asked. There's no avoiding that." 

"Yes. Especially given your family's social standing. Unmarried girls from prominent wizarding families simply do not find themselves raising children alone. You will have to make up a story about adopting an orphan. We could easily fabricate an origin for Pandora on paper, but even if the story was convincing, she would still be conspicuous." 

Green put a hand to her head and sighed. She looked, and sounded, weary. "That's not ideal," she said. "But I don't suppose we have an alternative." 

All of a sudden, an alarming expression of terror crossed Snape's face. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the look was gone. 

"Perhaps," Snape nearly whispered, "we do." 

Before she could respond, he reached into a pocket and drew out a small black box. His eyes darted around the room as though inspecting it for prying eyes as he handed the box to Professor Green. Frowning, she pulled off the lid. Harry couldn't see the contents clearly, but something small caught the torchlight and glimmered. 

Green gasped, stared at the shiny thing for a moment, then looked up at Snape questioningly. 

Harry's stomach lurched. At that moment, he would have happily traded his Firebolt for the ability to Apparate out of that room and avoid hearing the rest of Snape and Green's conversation. Ron, presumably just realizing what was happening, moved with a start, accidentally elbowing Harry in the ribs. Snape spoke. 

"We have been seeing each other for the past eight months." 

Green blinked, dazed. "We have? In the corridors, you mean." 

He continued: "We decided to elope quietly and avoid the nuisance and public spectacle of a large wedding. You have always wanted a child, so we decided to adopt one shortly after we were married. A girl." Snape paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes. "Don't you see? It makes a much more convincing story, and leaves Pandora much less conspicuous to the wizarding world." 

Realization began to dawn on Professor Green. She blinked, clearly struggling for words, then lamely replied, "Oh." She looked down at the ring. "But -- where did you get this?" 

"From your father. When I went to him and told him my -- intentions -- he insisted that I take it. It was your mother's, of course." 

The scene was entirely unbearable; Harry couldn't watch any more. The very idea of anyone marrying Snape -- _Snape!_ -- was too awful. And yet, at the same time, Harry felt strangely sorry for him. When Green said no (as she inevitably would) Snape would have to act as though it didn't matter. And although Harry believed the purpose of Snape's proposal was to protect Pandora, the rejection would still be ugly. Harry looked off into the darkness and fidgeted uncomfortably. No sound came from either of the teachers for several minutes. 

"You," she finally began again, a bit shakily, "went to my father? And he gave you -- this ring." 

"Yes." 

"And -- and you're asking me to _marry_ you?" 

"Yes. I believe it's the safest way." If Snape had been capable of stuttering, he certainly would have done so now. 

Then, unbelievably, Professor Green laughed. "You've given this a great deal of thought, haven't you? And the sheer presumptuousness -- it's incredible! You actually went to my _father_," she said incredulously. Then she shook her head and looked at him soberly. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't." 

Snape drew himself up, bracing against her arguments. "Be assured that if it were not for Pandora, I would not ask. I do not expect you to feel --" 

_Kill me now_ Ron whispered into Harry's ear. Harry stifled a startled laugh and elbowed Ron in an attempt to force him back into silence. 

"What?" Green interrupted. "No, it's not that. It's --" She took a deep breath. "Listen, this will be very dangerous, for her and for me. I've already told you that I'm certain Voldemort will come for her. It's _my_ job to keep her safe." Then, with a sudden ferocity, she added, "I won't ask you to risk your own life to protect us, especially after all you've done." 

"Persephone," Snape said, placing his long-fingered hands on both her shoulders and regarding her squarely. "Allow me to speak plainly. Pandora's position is precarious, to say the least, and your decision regarding my -- proposal -- could be the difference between her life and her death. Besides, you forget," he said, dropping his hands. "I am a Death Eater who has betrayed Voldemort, and now I've slipped through his fingers not once, but twice. He will be looking for me, too. Regardless of my relationship to you, or to Pandora, I am a marked man." 

There was silence for a moment. Then she said simply, "I had forgotten that." 

"I have nothing to gain and everything to lose if Voldemort regains power. I can help you protect Pandora. If you let me." 

Green's eyes darted down at the ring in her left hand. She set it loosely on her index finger and made it circle idly round and round, reflecting beams of torchlight onto the walls and into the dusty corners. From Harry's viewpoint, it looked like an ordinary Muggle diamond ring. The stone did not appear to be particularly large, but the torchlight played upon it very prettily. 

"It was my mother's. But then he told you that, didn't he?" she said absently as she stared at the ring. "I think my father always meant to give it to me. But Demetrius had his own family ring, so Dad never had the opportunity." She looked up from the ring and surveyed Snape, who watched her warily. There was an intensity to her gaze that made Harry half wonder whether she might actually be considering accepting Snape's proposal. In a very low voice, she said: "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

"It is the best way to keep her safe." 

"But the cost to yourself--" 

"There is no cost," he answered, in a manner quite unlike Snape: he was almost smiling, Harry could hear it in his voice. Before tonight, Harry would have thought Snape incapable of so much as sneezing without sarcasm or malice. 

Green eyed him dubiously. "Except your life." 

He nodded in concession. "Yes. Such as it is." 

Snape did not elaborate, and for several minutes Green did not respond. In the corner he shared with Ron, Harry was beginning to feel sore and cramped. Just as he began to wonder whether Green would ever answer, she did. 

"Alright then. I will marry you." 

Ron uttered a very slight gasp. Instantly Harry clapped one hand over Ron's mouth and the other over his own. Snape held Green's gaze for a moment, then looked down and nodded once. 

"You will want to send an owl to your father at once. I can manage the Mirror alone." 

"Yes, I'm sure you can." Harry was sure the smile in her voice was directed at Dumbledore for appointing the two of them to a task that was clearly manageable by one. She turned toward the doorway. Harry nudged Ron; if they timed it right, they might be able to slip out of the room behind her. Ron took the hint, and together they crept up next to the door. 

She placed her hand on the doorknob, and froze. She turned to look at Snape who, wand drawn, was preparing to charm the Mirror. 

"Severus." 

He turned toward her. She inspected the ring one more time, then slipped it onto her finger and said, "Thank you." She pulled the door open wide, to Harry and Ron's immense relief. As silently as possible, they scurried out of the room behind her. They heard the door close as they turned down the corridor and headed toward Gryffindor Tower. 

*** 

"You're going to be related to _Snape?_" Harry couldn't help snickering at Ron, just a little. 

For his part, Ron looked mortified. "Only by marriage! I don't even think it counts." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you do, _don't_ tell Fred and George." 

Harry and Ron reached the Gryffindor table to find that they were among the first students to arrive for the Leaving Feast. Their last day at Hogwarts had come quickly for them, but not quickly enough for Hermione, who had not finished O.W.L.s until that very afternoon. She'd been so busy that Ron and Harry hadn't had the opportunity to tell her about their run-in with Snape and Green. When they had finally returned to the common room the night it had happened, everyone had been asleep. 

"Tell them what?" Hermione asked as she took her seat next to Ron. But she didn't give him the chance to respond. "Oh, I can't wait to eat! I was so worried about O.W.L.s, I had no appetite at all while I was studying. Did I tell you how glad I am to be finished?" 

"Only fifty-two times." Ron snorted. 

"Is that all?" she asked with mock innocence. "Well then, I'll say it again: I'm finished with O.W.L.s!" She closed her eyes rapturously and turned her face upward toward the ceiling of the Great Hall, which was fading into darkness, just beginning to reveal a multitude of twinkling stars. "And I never have to take another one as long as I live!" 

"No," George interjected, taking a seat across from her and next to Harry. "But you _do_ have N.E.W.T.s in a couple of years. You'll probably want to start brushing up now." 

"Don't get her started," Ron pleaded. 

"I guess Ravenclaw's got it locked up," Fred chimed in, nodding in the direction of the huge hourglasses that kept track of the houses' points. Harry had almost forgotten about the house cup, although the royal blue and bronze banners adorning the walls should have made that impossible. Despite Gryffindor's dramatic come-from-behind victory for the Quidditch Cup, Ravenclaw had quietly amassed more overall points than any other house. Two tables away, Cho Chang smiled excitedly. She caught Harry's eye for a brief second and waved; he waved back. _It's nice to see someone else win the cup for once,_ he thought contentedly. 

"I dunno," George mused. "Harry, would you care to follow me to the dungeons for a few minutes? I'm sure we could get you attacked by a Death Eater, or bitten by a Basilisk or something. Then it would be Gryffindor all the way!" 

"Brilliant!" Fred exclaimed. "Do you think we could have the whole affair neatly wrapped up by the end of dinner? I don't want to miss dessert." Harry laughed. 

"You, miss dessert? That'd be a first, wouldn't it?" Angelina quipped. George snickered. 

The Gryffindors were in excellent moods. As it had been over a decade since Ravenclaw had won the house cup, no one really begrudged them the victory -- no one, at least, who wasn't in Slytherin. 

As he scanned the Slytherins' faces -- exhibiting emotions ranging from quiet disappointment, to abject sorrow, to outrage -- Harry noticed Draco Malfoy sitting, as always, between his cronies Crabbe and Goyle. None of them spoke, and Malfoy looked positively miserable. He sat with his arms crossed and eyed the blue and bronze hangings balefully. Harry was certain that Malfoy had known something about Voldemort's plan to become immortal; in all likelihood, Lucius Malfoy had even helped. But how much had Draco known? And did he now know about Pandora? If so, might Voldemort try to use Draco's position as a student at Hogwarts to get to her? 

Harry's reverie was interrupted by Professor Dumbledore, who stood up at the head of the staff table and loudly cleared his throat. The room quieted. 

"When we began this school year," Dumbledore said, "none of us knew exactly what to expect, and as a result, many of us expected the worst. Now we are nearly one year older and, hopefully, one year wiser. I am quite happy to announce that this Leaving Feast has found me with no bad news whatsoever to share with you. In fact, I have the privilege of relating two pieces of news which should make us all positively cheerful. 

"First, the house standings. In fourth place, with five hundred fifty nine points, is Hufflepuff House." Dumbledore applauded, and the rest of the Hall followed suit. The Hufflepuffs cheered, though they looked slightly sheepish at their poor showing. "In third place, with five hundred ninety-two points, Slytherin House." The Gryffindors smiled broadly, pleased to have edged Slytherin down to third place. Snape looked uninterested in this piece of information, and clapped as mechanically as the rest of the students and teachers. 

"In second place, with six hundred fourteen points, Gryffindor House." An excited roar broke out from the Gryffindor table. George whistled shrilly enough to deafen everyone sitting with a ten-foot radius, earning him a scowl from Angelina. 

"And with six hundred and thirty-eight points, it is my pleasure to award the house cup to Ravenclaw!" 

Nearly everyone in the Great Hall stood, applauded, and cheered, but none as loudly as the Ravenclaws themselves. They laughed, hugged one another -- Harry even saw two of the girls crying. Cho Chang was being patted on the back, thanked, and congratulated by every Ravenclaw who could get near her. It was her performance in the Quidditch match against Gryffindor that had brought her house within range of winning the cup, and her housemates hadn't forgotten it. 

Once the cheers and congratulations died down, the students and teachers moved to take their seats again. 

"Excuse me," Dumbledore said politely, stopping them all in mid movement. "But I said that I have _two_ announcements to make tonight." 

Harry stared at Dumbledore. And then he knew. 

"I have no doubts that all members of our Hogwarts staff think very highly of their colleagues. But two of our number have decided to formalize those sentiments. Please join me in offering heartiest congratulations to our dear Professors Severus Snape and Persephone Green, on the occasion of their marriage." 

Never in all the time he had attended Hogwarts had Harry seen the Hall so full, yet so quiet. The dropping of a pin would have been an intolerable racket compared to this. Every student froze, gaping wordlessly at Dumbledore and waiting for the punchline. Hermione frowned, wrinkling her nose oddly. Even Fred and George were speechless. 

It was Neville who finally broke the silence with a plaintive, whispered, "Oh no." Professor Green blushed, and Snape nervously fingered the cuffs of his robes. 

"Yes, I am afraid it is true, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore responded matter-of-factly. "Though I must say, I do not take quite as dim a view of the circumstances as you. Now, if you would all be so kind, please raise your glasses in a toast. To Mr. and Mrs. Severus Snape!" 

Harry wouldn't have thought it possible if he hadn't seen it, but Dumbledore's toast alarmed the students even more than the initial news. Every single pupil raised his or her eyebrows and looked around in helpless shock. Even the teachers were nonplussed: Professor McGonagall appeared paler than usual, and Professor Sinistra looked slightly ill. Only Hagrid grinned and raised his glass. 

Harry and Ron exchanged a knowing glance. Ron lifted his cup of pumpkin juice, and Harry did the same. Together with Hagrid they shouted, "Hear, hear!" and drank. Eventually the rest of the students realized what they were supposed to be doing, mumbled something similar, drank, and sat down. 

It wasn't until the food appeared that the buzz started. 

"Is it some kind of joke?" 

"Marry _him_? She must be mad!" 

"Maybe he slipped her a Love Potion, or something." 

"But she's an Auror! She'd know better." 

"Imagine being married to _Snape_!" 

No one seemed capable of comprehending the news except Neville, who looked completely heartbroken. "Cheer up," Ron said as he put an arm around the forlorn boy. "Maybe she'll have a good influence on him. Don't you reckon that's why he was nice to us at the beginning of the year?" Neville nodded, still speechless but looking slightly less stricken. He turned away and tentatively began to eat his dinner. 

The food itself was superb: there were roast beef, herbed potatoes, chicken pie, an interesting puff pastry filled with cheese, all kinds of green vegetables, and an assortment of desserts (Harry and Ron opted for the trifle). Hermione ate quietly. She seemed to be turning something over in her mind. 

"Are you alright?" Ron asked her as they all stood to return to their dormitories. 

She nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. It all makes sense. It was a very clever idea, actually. I would have suggested it, if I'd thought of it myself." 

When they reached the stairs, the three of them lagged behind the other Gryffindors so as not to be overheard. "You mean you know why they got married?" Harry asked. 

"Of course, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said. Then she quietly recounted Pandora's situation -- in vague terms and without names -- and articulated the exact argument Snape had made to Professor Green in the dungeons. 

Harry was genuinely impressed at her insight. "Wow, Hermione." 

"Yeah," Ron agreed, staring at her in admiration. "I think you must be right." 

"Of course I am," Hermione answered matter-of-factly. "But we can't tell anyone, of course. Remember that: not a soul. Not even your parents, Ron. Or Ginny, Harry." 

"I know," Harry and Ron said simultaneously. Ron rolled his eyes. "Honestly Hermione, do you really think we're that thick?" 

She smiled. "I don't believe you really want me to answer that." Suddenly her face contorted in a cavernous yawn. "Come on. It's been a long day." 

*** 

The next morning, Harry dressed, checked that he had packed everything properly, then set off down the corridor alone to find Sirius. As he approached the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office, it suddenly jumped aside revealing, to Harry's surprise, Dumbledore himself. 

"Ah, hello Harry!" Dumbledore smiled merrily as he patted Harry on the back. "All packed and ready to go?" 

"Yes, sir. I was just coming to say goodbye to -- er, to Snuffles." 

"Of course! But he's not in my office this morning, I'm afraid. You'll find him with Professor Green." Curious, Harry thanked Dumbledore, wished him a good summer, then set off in the direction of Green's office. 

As he neared the office door, raised voices told him that Sirius was indeed inside. 

"Why? Why _him?_" 

There was a pause, then Professor Green's voice said, "who else?" 

"Persephone, you know I'd do it. I could look out for both of you --" 

"Of course you could! But Sirius, you're a fugitive. The whole point of this marriage is that it's _public!_ I can't very well tell the world I'm married to you, can I? I can't even tell anyone that I _know_ you without putting your life in danger." 

"But marrying _Snape?!_ What could you be thinking? You've gone mad!" 

"Don't be ridiculous. It makes the most sense." 

"You must be joking!" 

"Please keep your voice down! Someone will hear you." 

She was right. Without knocking, Harry opened the door and walked inside. Professor Green and Sirius stared at him in alarm. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "but I could hear everything from the corridor, and I wouldn't want anyone to walk by and hear Sirius --" 

"Thank you, Harry," Green interrupted. "Please wait outside, and close the door behind you." 

"No," Sirius interjected. "He can stay. He has a right to know what's going on." 

"Fine," she answered, glancing at Harry and gesturing toward the couch near the door. He sat. 

Sirius turned back toward her and said, more quietly now, "I just don't understand." 

Green took a deep breath and explained Snape's idea of marrying as a way of making Pandora less noticeable to the wizarding world. As she finished, Sirius gaped incredulously. 

"And you _went_ for it?" 

She rolled her eyes. "I suppose there's some cynical logic behind that question?" 

"Persephone." He looked at her squarely. "Snape comes up with a plan to help save the world, which coincidentally involves him marrying into one of the most prominent wizarding families in Britain. That doesn't make you suspicious? He's a Slytherin, for crying out loud!" 

"So am I!" she cried. 

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. He's ambitious and selfish. He only cares about acquiring power and status. _He can't be trusted._" 

"He tried to save my life. Harry was there. _He_ trusts Snape. Don't you, Harry?" 

They both turned to face him. Despite his intense desire to be left out of their argument, Harry found that he couldn't disagree. "Er -- I suppose so." 

"See?" 

Sirius paused for a very long time, looking down at the rug, then into the fireplace, and finally at Professor Green. "I hope you know what you're doing." 

She didn't respond for several seconds. Finally, she nodded, said, "I'll let you two say goodbye," and left, closing the door behind her. 

Sirius sat on the couch next to Harry. "Sorry about that," he said. "I just think -- it seems like such a ridiculous idea." 

"Hermione thought it made sense." 

"Did she? Well, she's cleverer than I am. Maybe I ought to consider that." Sirius chuckled, but Harry could tell there was still something bothering him. 

"Sirius, are you alright?" 

He shrugged and, leaning forward, placed his elbows on his knees, looking down at the rug again. "Yeah, sure, I'm fine. I'll be fine. It's just - " he broke off, then added very quietly, "I can't imagine her being happy with him." 

"Well," Harry said thoughtfully, "I don't reckon it's about being happy, is it? It's about winning the fight against Voldemort." 

"Maybe that's what bothers me," Sirius mused. He looked soberly at Harry. "Look, Harry, be careful this summer. I mean it. I'll write to you as often as I can. You still have Mrs. Figg as your Secret-Keeper, but I want you to be on your guard. We thought we were being watchful before, and we still didn't see the attack coming. We've got to be even more vigilant now." 

*** 

The entrance hall was abuzz with students. Their trunks were packed, their owls and cats were caged, and their hands clutched notices forbidding them to use magic during the summer break. 

"I used to dread getting those, back when I was a youngster," Fred mused, patting his twin on the back and sniffing back a fake tear. "The memories." 

"Will you miss Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. 

"You mental?" George answered. "We can use magic all we want and there's nothing anyone can do to stop us!" 

"There's a comforting thought," Angelina muttered as she made her way through the crowd. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione found Hagrid on the front steps, towering over the first-years. Out here, the sun shone brilliantly, reflecting off the stone steps and the lake, and causing them to squint. "Oi, you three!" Hagrid called. They smiled as they approached him. "I guess yeh'll be wantin' this." Hagrid reached into one of several coat pockets (Harry briefly caught a glimpse of a pocket full of birdseed, and another with what looked to be a rat's tail dangling out of it), pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper, and handed it to Hermione. 

"Thanks, Hagrid!" She grinned. He winked at them. As Hermione wended her way through the growing mass of students on the steps, Harry and Ron followed. 

They found Professor Green far back in the entrance hall, saying goodbye to a group of third-years. Snape was nowhere around. 

"Professor," Hermione said softly after the third-years had said their goodbyes and left, "we have something for you." 

Hermione pulled the little box out from behind her back, and held it toward Green, who looked curiously from Hermione, to Ron, to Harry. Harry grinned. 

"We made it for you," he said. "Hagrid helped." 

"What is --" She tore the paper away to reveal a small box, carved from a single piece of unicorn horn. 

She lifted it up, then brought it back down, turning it over and gazing at it, dumbstruck. 

"It's real, of course," Hermione said proudly. "We had the idea, and Hagrid found the horn, but he let us help carve it. Look." She pointed at a tiny figure carved into the side of the box, of a person holding a book. "That's me." 

"And here's me," Ron put in, pointing to another figure, much taller than the first, holding a cauldron. "And Harry." He indicated a third figure, holding a broomstick and standing next to an enormous dragon -- Hagrid's creation. 

"It's -- it's just incredible," Green whispered. 

"We thought you might know someone you could give it to," Hermione said in low tones, smiling. 

Green nodded, blinked back tears, and bit her lip. After a moment she said simply, "Thank you." Then, without warning, she gathered the three of them in a clumsy hug. After several seconds, she released them. "Well then, you three have a good summer. I'll see you next year." 

"Are you going to be our Defense against the Dark Arts teacher again, then?" Ron asked hopefully. 

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I'll be busy tending to other matters -- though I daresay your gift will help with that." 

Ron's face fell. "Well, who's going to teach us?" 

She shrugged. "If I knew the answer to that, my grandfather wouldn't be writing a new job posting for the _Daily Prophet_ right now." 

They said their final goodbyes and -- after another awkward hug -- followed the crowd to Hogsmeade station. 

Just after the Harry, Ron, and Hermione boarded the Hogwarts Express, they heard someone hiss from behind them: "Another year, another train ride. I'll be very _interested_ to see who ends up with the boils this time." 

"Hello Malfoy, you stinking slug," Ron answered without looking. Harry turned around. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stood in the aisle behind them. 

"Weasley. Granger. Potter." Malfoy said Harry's name with particular distaste. "You know, we've been waiting for a chance to repay you for those hexes last year." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled stupidly. 

"Try it," Ron said, pulling out his wand. 

"Ron, no," Hermione whispered. 

"Yeah, Weasley, listen to your girlfriend," Malfoy said. "Everyone knows she's got more sense than you -- even if she is a filthy Mudb--" 

"Draco Malfoy!" shouted a shrill voice. Very slowly, Draco turned around. Ginny was standing directly behind him. 

"What do you want?" he nearly spat. 

"Keep your mouth shut before it gets you into more trouble than you can handle." 

Malfoy snorted. "And what do you plan to do about it?" 

But Ginny didn't have a chance to answer. Before she could say a word, Ron drew his wand, pointed it at Malfoy, and shouted, "_Accido!_" 

It was as though someone had swept Malfoy's feet right out from under him. They went one way, and the rest of his body went another, causing him to tumble to the ground and thump his head loudly against the floor. Harry stifled a giggle, but Ron laughed right out loud. Crabbe and Goyle, however, didn't see the humor. Without even thinking to draw their wands, they advanced on Ron and Harry. Harry had just decided on a defense -- a Blinding Hex -- when he heard another voice, not shrill this time, but icy with malice: 

"What is going on here?" 

Crabbe and Goyle froze; just beyond the massive curve of Crabbe's back, Harry could see Snape surveying the scene. 

Hermione spoke first. "Sir, it wasn't Ron's fault. Malfoy was just--" 

"Save it, Miss Granger," Snape said as he bent, grabbed Malfoy by the collar, and stood him up on his feet. "I would like to speak with you, with Mister Weasley, and with--" he cast a glance at Harry-- "Mister Potter." 

Ginny watched sympathetically as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Snape shuffled off the train at the closest exit, with Hermione leading. "But we didn't _do_anything--" 

"Miss Granger, I will not tell you again to hold your tongue! The topic I wish to discuss has nothing to do with Draco Malfoy and his ridiculous antics." 

Hermione fell silent. Snape drew a deep breath and said stiffly, "Professor Green has told me about your -- gift. Incredibly, it appears that you have given us something that is likely to be of use. And, as the rules of etiquette require us to submit our thanks, I am prepared to offer them to you at this time." Snape didn't meet one of the three pairs of eyes trained on him as he said, "Thank you." 

Hermione raised her eyebrows and glanced sidelong at Harry and Ron. 

Snape's voice lowered to a near-growl. "Do not expect to receive a formal thank-you note by owl. That is all." He turned and began to walk briskly in the direction of Hogsmeade. 

"Sir?" Hermione called. Already several paces away, Snape stopped and turned back toward them. Hermione grinned as she shouted, "YOU'RE WELCOME!" 

*** 

Re-entering the Muggle world was a shock. It always was, but this year Harry's head was even more full of magical knowledge -- on account of O.W.L.s, he guessed -- and it made the Muggle world seem even more colorless and mundane than usual. Even though he had tried to prepare himself, he was a little disturbed to cross through the barrier to Platform 9-3/4 and see Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia waiting on the other side. 

"Harry, I'll write to you," Ron said consolingly when he saw Uncle Vernon's red-faced scowl and Aunt Petunia's frown. 

"Yes, Harry," Hermione added. "Me too." She leaned over, gave him a hug, and kissed him on the cheek. "Have a nice summer." 

"Right," Harry said, trying to look cheerful. "See you," he waved to Ron and Hermione as they weaved through the crowd to find their parents. Resignedly, Harry approached his aunt and uncle. 

"There you are." Uncle Vernon turned and began walking toward the nearest exit without bothering to help Harry with his things. "Nice little trick you pulled, eh? Getting Mrs. Figg to drop you off here so you could get to that -- place." 

"Oh yeah. Sorry about that," Harry answered. He wasn't sure what story Mrs. Figg had told the Dursleys to explain how Harry had gotten from her house to Hogwarts, but he was sure she hadn't revealed that she was a witch. It was clever of her, really. Suddenly, Harry felt grateful; after all, how unlikely was it that the Dursleys would try to dump him on Mrs. Figg at some point during the summer? She might even get news from Sirius. Harry would be able to find out what was going on in the wizarding world from her -- even find out whether Voldemort surfaced ... 

Unexpectedly, it occurred to Harry that a short separation from the wizarding world might not be so bad after all. If he could manage to coexist peacefully with the Dursleys for a few weeks, it might even be a nice temporary change of pace. 

He followed Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wordlessly out of the bustling station and into the quiet dusk. 

THE END 

*** 

**Author's Note:** Thanks again to all the cool people on the Yahoo group who gave suggestions, made demands, levied guilt trips, and raised philosophical quibbles. 

I borrowed the character of Abbacus Gryme from Teri Krenek and Alec Dossetor's expansive and terribly well-written _The Arithmancer's Apprentice_. Go read it! 

Apologies to anyone who experiences nausea at the thought of Snape being married, but ... hey, I like the guy. I couldn't very well let him live out his days lonely and miserable, could I? 

Bye for now! 


End file.
